


Darkly Devoted

by OpensUp4Nobody



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Curse-breaker!Grantaire, Curses, M/M, Talk of War, and many many feelings, but ignoring all the hp canon and characters, veela!Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-07-13 04:03:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16009907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpensUp4Nobody/pseuds/OpensUp4Nobody
Summary: It felt suspiciously like fate when Grantaire received an owl from Hogwarts pleading for his help unbreaking a curse ensnaring Professor Enjolras, or maybe the cosmic forces of universe just enjoyed shoving painful memories in his face. Either way, he had a job to do.





	1. Chapter 1

Fucking hell, nothing's changed.

That was Grantaire's first thought as he apparated into Hogsmeade. It was like stepping into a scene from his memories, albeit darker and less crowded. It was past midnight and there was not a soul in sight. Light from his illuminated wand shimmered off the dark puddles of water lining the cobblestone street as he observed his surroundings. The little village itself looked untouched by time, just as it had when he was in school. The peaked outline of steep roofs and long chimneys called forth memories of cold days and warm feelings of what seemed another life. For a moment he imagined that time had been frozen in his absence and if he only walked into the Three Broomsticks he would find himself seventeen again, surrounded by friends. But the idea lasted only a moment, the lack of change was only a matter of building aesthetics, certainly the people living within those buildings would have changed. Merlin knew he had.

He quickly cast his musings aside, he was in a hurry after all. He had been called upon by the headmaster, an urgent letter by owl. That anyone had been able to contact him by owl post was something to wonder at. He wasn't entirely sure how the bird had found him so quickly given his ever-present slew of anti-tracking spells, but he suspected Eponine must have something to do with it. Last he'd heard, she was reluctantly teaching divination, but it had been years since they'd spoken. Perhaps now she wasn't so reluctant about poking about in the future.

Normally, no seer would have been able to find him, but in the last week he'd had to remove a few of his anti-detection charms in order to take on a curse from a client and hadn't yet managed to gather all the ingredients for the rituals to renew some of the more complex magic, seer blindness included. It made for suspiciously good timing, but then his entire life over the past few years seemed to be a series of suspiciously well-timed events.

Whatever the case, he was there now and it was a terribly uncomfortable sensation; his discomfort came in multiple forms. He was physically and mentally exhausted for one, he hadn't had any time to recover from his last case, which he had finished only hours before the letter arrived. Three days of near nonstop movement, luckily it hadn't been an especially complex curse, only a simple case of creeping skin corrosion. Still, determining what spells had been used took time and he hadn't slept in nearly 25 hours. But he was used to living in a constant state of manic exhaustion, he was more unsettled by the memories he would soon have to face walking back into his old school.

Thinking about the past made him jittery, like he might vibrate out of his skin. Too much unpleasantness, dread was thick and heavy in his stomach. He hadn't been back to Hogwarts since he'd graduated nearly ten years ago. The staff was almost entirely new, or rather they had been new years ago when they'd started, most of them had held their positions for four years or so now. Headmaster Jean Valjean had wanted new blood in the building after The Little War. The headmaster himself had only taken up the role five years previously, just before the war had started.

By the gods, time moved quickly. 

Trying to outpace his thoughts, Grantaire rounded the corner, finding a Thestral pulled carriage awaiting him, pulled up in front of Zonko's joke shop. He hadn't wanted a carriage, he wanted to walk out his nervous energy and delay going up to the castle. But it was an emergency, so he couldn't exactly refuse just because he wanted to take a stroll and really, he didn't have the energy to spare.

The Thestral tilted its skeletal head in his direction as he neared, shuffling its wings impatiently. Grantaire had liked Thestrals better when he couldn't see them. His first visible encounter with the creatures occurred during the war when he had happened upon a herd feasting on the bodies of thirty or so dead wizards up in The Lake District. He had been there to aid the healers in a makeshift aid station, but what was left of the staff was being consumed by the wildlife. The station itself lay in a smoldering heap of rubble, patients having been consumed in the destruction; an attack by pureblood radicals. The image was seared into his memory, not a pleasant first impression.

A man stepped down from the carriage and offered a hand as Grantaire approached. His dark robes gave him a rather ominous disposition.

"You must be Grantaire," the man said.

Grantaire took the hand offered. "Indeed, it is good to meet you, Headmaster."

From what he'd heard, Headmaster Valjean was as much loved by his students as he was despised by the ministry. Rumor had it that he'd personally slighted the minister for magic and ex-tyrannical headmaster Javert, who had been in charge of the school when Grantaire had been attending.

During Grantaire’s academic years, the portraits had always said they'd never seen a stricter headmaster, and there had never been more students expelled. It was quite astounding that of his school friends only Bahorel had been expelled in his final year for infesting Javert's office with a nest of exceptionally malicious pixies. Upon leaving, he had immediately gone into professional quidditch, wearing his expulsion as a badge of honor and deeming the whole affair completely worth it.

"I hope that you did not have to travel far," said Valjean, withdrawing his hand and stepping back into the carriage, "I apologize for the suddenness. It was suggested by some of my staff that I call for you rather than a ministry curse-breaker."

Grantaire nodded following him into the carriage. Many of his clients were those with a desire to avoid ministry intervention. "No need to apologize. I understand your urgency." His life was a series of emergencies. "How did you manage to get an owl to me, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Our divination professor, professor Thinardier, informed me that if I sent out an owl it would find you."

"Ah," Grantaire nodded, "I thought that might be the case."

Valjean waved his wand and the carriage began moving toward the castle.

"So, tell me about the situation," Grantaire began. The letter had not been particularly detailed.

"Yes well, it was noticed this morning, or rather yesterday morning, that professor Enjorlas was missing. When we attempted to locate him, it was discovered that his room had apparently disappeared. I had my entire staff searching the wall for the missing room. Professor Courfeyrac, our charms professor, finally managed to vanish a particularly strong the disillusionment charm and worked through an alarming number of low-level curses before we managed to get the door open. But when it opens, everyone who enters sees the room as they last entered it and none of them sees the professor. No one could un-curse the door completely, so our transfiguration professor, Combeferre, suggested calling upon you."

"And here I am,” Grantaire drawled, “Was there anyone in the castle who would have wanted to harm him?" It would be stupid to ask if Enjolras had enemies given his many many fierce opinions on how the world should work. Far too many malignant spells had been cast his way in the past; before, during, and after the war by all number of people. He was a force to be reckoned with and he wasn't afraid of upsetting people.

Thinking about him made Grantaire’s stomach squirm.

"No, we only have the staff here over the summer and they all have my full trust."

Summer, right. It was the end of August, Grantaire wasn't exactly sure of the date but the start of classes must be imminent. Rather inconvenient timing for the school.

"And I find it hard to believe someone would sneak in undetected. When was the last time he left the castle?"

The first thing to determine was whether the room or the person had been cursed. It was more likely the person given that the victim had been subjected to many curses in the past and the location was somewhat secure.

"He and the rest of the staff go down to Hogsmead a few times a week, the last time he was in London was three days ago with Professor Combeferre, but they were together nearly the entire time. No one saw him cursed."

"Any other strange events around the castle, apart from vanishing doors?"

"Nothing outside of the usual."

That was not entirely reassuring, knowing Hogwarts it may be easier to count the normal things than the abnormal.

They had reached the gates, which automatically opened upon their arrival. Stepping out of the carriage, they continued on foot.

"I'm sure my staff will fill you in on any suspicions they have," Valjean assured as they approached the castle doors.

For half a moment Grantaire felt very small and eleven again, drowning in pureblood responsibilities and dark promises, but unaware of the path ahead, hopeful for something new. At the time he had imagined he would be sorted into Hufflepuff, not thinking himself especially brave, clever, or cunning. Being sorted into Ravenclaw had seemed a mistake, he never felt particularly intellectual. Sure, he knew a good many things, perhaps even more than most but there never seemed to be a point to it at least not back then. He had definitely never been as academically competitive as the others in his house, but he always breezed through his classes with good marks, putting in no more effort than was necessary.

In retrospect the hat seemed to have made the right choice. It is difficult to be loyal when you have higher obligations. He had more than proved his loyalty was nothing but an empty promise.

As the door ahead swung open, he shook himself and continued onward.

"I'm sure they will.” Grantaire agreed hastily, “And I will do my best to get your professor back to you, if he is trapped inside the castle walls or anywhere else for that matter."

"Thank you, I am struggling to find a replacement for one professor, let alone two."

Grantaire frowned. "Who is the other replacement for?"

"Unfortunately, professor Fauchelevent was forced to step down this spring."

"May I ask what happened?" Professor Fauchelevent had been the defence against the dark arts teacher while he was in school.

"He was sent to St Mungo’s halfway through April after falling into an unresponsive trance. The healers informed me that it was likely some residual dark magic from his time as an Auror, but he passed away last month."

"Ah, that's too bad. He was a good teacher." He had been, though he was a bit odd. However, his class had been easy enough, which endeared him to the students.

Thinking back, Grantaire remembered watching people goof off in that class more than he remembered the actual lessons. He used to sit in the back and watch magical notes pass across the classroom in increasingly dramatic fashions. It became a bit of a competition in his year to send stupid, meaningless notes in complexly folded packages, the more flourish in the casting and the longer it was in the air, the more impressive it was. Feuilly was an expert, he kept a paper dragon flittering through the air for an entire class period. It was by far the most impressive paper related accomplishment of the class but often times it was more worth it to see the people who were caught and had their nonsensical notes read aloud. Jehan was the resident nonsense king. After a time, the teachers caught on and stopped reading them, so the students began jinxing them to read themselves upon capture.

Grantaire’s personal favorite note had been written by Enjolras, who typically only sent notes for very official and serious purposes when he was plotting action against Javert. He had a method of creating pretty little pinwheels which he would slide over the surface of his desk and vanish as they reached the end. They then appeared on the desk of the intended as if slid from one desk to the other. Grantaire assumed the note had been intended for Combeferre, who Enjolras send the bulk of his notes to, but this one had ended up across the classroom on Grantaire’s desk instead. Curiously, Grantaire sat back and unfolded the note as Fauchelevent went on about dark magic detection. Instead of an official message laying out the time and place for a gathering of Les Amis d’ABC, there was what appeared to be a magically animated and very badly drawn elephant galloping across a flaming field with the word “revolution” written across its side. There must have been some sort of context to this image but for the life of him Grantaire could not possibly imagine what it could be. That, on top of the realization that Enjolras fucked around making shitty drawings in class like everyone else blew his mind just a little bit.

In return he had doodled a traumatized little elephant pouring itself a cup of tea using its trunk with the caption ‘what the fuck did I just see?’. He folded the note into a mouse shape and sent it scurrying across the room to Enjolras who gave him an embarrassed grimace when he read it, shaking his head.

Grantaire had tried to bring it up later but Enjolras kept talking over him, not allowing him to get anywhere. He hadn’t asked for the note back though, so Grantaire kept it in his trunk, it made him smile every time he looked at it. He wondered where that note was now, probably lost somewhere in his old house along with all his other school things.

"Finding someone to take his place has not been easy. At this point I may have to step in and teach some of the classes. Not many are willing to stand against the ministry at the moment." Valjean sighed.

"No, I suppose they aren't." Minister Javert would see anyone taking a job at Hogwarts as an official declaration of their allegiance against him. If there was any dirt to be dug up, it would see the light. The minister held back no punches. When he had taken over the office he went through and dismissed every member of his staff that who had ever in any way skirted around the rules even a little bit. He had even dismissed a secretary for accidental underaged magic he had performed at age sixteen.

"You wouldn't happen know anyone in the feild searching for a change in pace, would you? I imagine you meet all sorts in your line of work."

That was true enough. "Unfortunately, no one comes to mind at the moment. I'll let you know if I can think of anyone."  

"That would be much appreciated."

The castle's interior was as he remembered it, though there was nobody in sight. The feeling in the castle was always different after school hours, very empty and slightly ominous. He'd spent his share of time wandering around after dark. Luckily, most of the time he was sneaking out of the dorm he was with Combeferre and Joly, who were both clever enough that they were never caught. Always good to sneak about with people cleverer than you. The Hufflepuffs were the ones always being discovered, Marius and Courfeyrac couldn’t keep their mouths shut and Bossuet was accident prone. Luckily, the teachers had taken to not reporting small infractions to the headmaster, otherwise it might have become a bigger issue.

Instead of taking the grand staircase, Valjean brought him up the front steps and through a hallway where he tapped the painting of a rather befuddled looking hippogriff, which swung back, opening into a hidden stairway. Grantaire wondered if Jehan knew about this secret passage, it was his mission as a student to uncover all the castle's secrets. Surely, he knew more now, as a teacher, than they had back then. He supposed he would soon have the opportunity to ask.

The stairs were not nearly long enough to physically extend to the 4th floor, but that was where they came out none the less. To the right, at the end of the corridor there was a crowd around what Grantaire knew to be the history of magic room. At the sound of their approach, the crowd turned toward them.

His heart thudded erratically between his ribs.

He was looking at a collection of people he hadn't seen together in years: Eponine, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Jehan, Joly, Bossuet, and Marius stood at the door along with a blond woman he did not know, but who looked vaguely familiar, and a series of other teachers he did not recognize. Four years hadn’t changed them much.

"Grantaire." He wasn't sure who said it or what their inflection was, he was only distantly aware that someone said his name.

"I can't believe you're actually here," Marius said, clearly shocked. His expression was mirrored by the others.

The last time he had seen Marius was half a year after the war had started, despite Marius’ membership as a part of Les Amis he had never been particularly devoted to the cause, at least not to the extent the others were. Having grown up a traditional pureblood in an upper-class family he hadn’t quite seen the appeal of unveiling the wizarding world to the muggles. They got on alright separately as far as he could tell. He had instead gone off on a herbology expedition in France when things were starting to get intense.

"It's my job," he smiles sardonically, "Ask and you shall receive." It was a labor to keep the bitterness from corrupting is tone but his tongue was quick and his smile quirked easily.

"If we'd known that we would have cursed someone a long time ago," Eponine huffed, "Where the hell have you been?"

Eponine had spent her time at war spying on her father and his cronies, which allowed for Monsieur Thenardier and a number of his associates to be sent to Azkaban for muggle exploitation after life had settled back into relative normality. Their last exchange had been an argument over Grantaire’s employment. That two months after Marius had left.

Grantaire sighed, shaking his head. "Everywhere. Busier that you can imagine." And wasn't that the fucking truth. "But that's not important right now."

Courfeyrac gaped at him. "Nobody's so much as seen you in two years and that's all you have to say?"

Courfeyrac had been at the last Les Amis meeting Grantaire officially attended along with Bossuet, Joly, Feuilly, Jehan, Combeferre, and Bahorel, three months before the war ended. Their last exchanged had been an apologetic grimace on Courfeyrac’s part after Enjolras threatened to hex him if he didn’t leave.

"Who saw me two years ago?" And what had they seen? He could not remember life back then with much coherency.

"Feuilly said you stormed through his department once, but you were gone before he could grab you." Combeferre offered.

"Ah, right, weather anomalies." There had been client cursed to attract lightning whenever she walked outside. He'd had to shake down the department head of the ministry’s weather anomalies sector in order to gain access to a volume on weather related dark magic. At the time it hadn't even occurred to him at Feuilly would have been there. In his defense, he probably hadn’t been all there at the time in a mental sense.  

"It incited one of the many grand searches after you," Jehan stated. That sent a pang of guilt through Grantaire’s chest. It wasn’t like he had wanted this to happen, time had just gotten away from him...

"Ah well, I carry a lot of anti-detection spells. Anyone seeking me out won't find me, usually that is."

"Then how do you get clients?" Marius wondered.

"I have a tendency to show up exactly where I'm needed." Almost like magic, he would find himself in the vicinity of those who were cursed, especially when they were not seeking help by official means. "Anyway, it's really not important right now. What's the situation with Enjolras?"

"Right, well we think he's in there." Courfeyrac gestured to the classroom door, which looked perfectly ordinary.

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with.” Grantaire stepped forward, placing both hands on the wood, eyes closed as he felt out the magic, letting it move from the cold surface up through his fingers.

There was something slightly off about this bewitchment. It didn't feel like just a series of spells, it was something more solid and whole. It also didn't feel like a curse, there were curses intertwined, but they were a smaller part of a bigger picture and the magic itself felt like Enjorlas, whose magic felt like smooth flame, so cold and bright it burned. It set his teeth on edge and he resisted the urge to shiver. He hadn't felt that magical glimmer in so long, he pushed away any emotional reactions in favor of asking the greater question: why was it there? He stepped back in confusion.

It would be very strange indeed for Enjolras to hide away in his own room by disappearing the door when he could easily just lock it.

"What was his behavior like before he disappeared?" he turned his eyes upon the crowd.

"Joly was the last person to speak with him," Combeferre said.

Joly frowned, "He seemed completely normal when he was talking to me. He kept going off about some bill being drafted concerning muggle-wizard relations. I wasn't really listening because my head was buzzing from... Well, it doesn't matter. Anyway, he said he was going to turn in early so he could start writing angry letters, which is a little unusual because he likes to walk the grounds as he writes..."

Grantaire suddenly and vividly remembered all the time he'd sat gazing out windows to watch Enjorlas angrily pace about as he dictated to a floating quill and scrap of parchment.

Once he'd been watching through an open window while transfiguring grapes into wooden coins and could not resist the urge to throw one of the grapes down at Enjorlas lovely blond head. The small fruit swiftly met its mark, dropping dead onto the part of Enjorlas’ hair and bouncing away, startling the Slytherin so badly that he flailed about for a moment before remembering his wand and taking up a defensive position. He must have shouted something but Grantaire hadn't heard it, he nearly wet himself laughing at the indignant squawk the blond had made. The next time he saw him, he couldn't stop the tremors of laughter that bubbled up and in retaliation Enjorlas gave life to his charms book which promptly attacked him. Perhaps he'd deserved that.

He tried to refocus as Joly continued to ramble.

".... but I didn't think it was that weird, so I didn’t mention it. And then no one saw him at breakfast. We didn't even think to look until after three."

Grantaire hummed. No overtly odd behavior and no cursing the victim or his door unless someone had broken into the castle, which seemed unlikely. Perhaps a curse with a timer on it, to avoid suspicion.

Grantaire began tracing his wand over the frame of the door muttering detection spells under his breath. This hasty but powerful magic, which wasn’t entirely surprising, Enjolras was an exceptionally powerful wizard. There were aversion charms strong enough to convince someone who knew the door was there that it wasn't, corrosive curses for those who tried to open it and a host of other magic he couldn't name. For sure there were traces of dark magic, though nothing strong enough to be worrying. There was something else too...

He stopped. Natural magic. Now _there_ was something odd. 

He opened the door and stepped inside, it looked as it had years and years ago under professor Mabeuf, but it resonated with Enjorlas’ magic. The sensation was somewhat jarring.

He focused on that spark which was insistently urging him out. Out. _Out._

But now that he'd gotten over the shock of feeling it again, he could sense the difference in the resonance of the magic. It was wilder with traces of raw natural magic, unrefined, fierce and brutal. It was making his throat burn and his skin tingle as if through static electricity.

He took a breath and retreated from the room, closing the door behind him. Placing both hands back on the wood, he let it shimmer out of existence, reestablishing the protective measures. With a wound-up mess like this it was easy to pluck a few metaphorical strings to reset a magical trap, undoing the entire mess was the tricky part.

Courfeyrac groaned, "It took me forever to undo those."

"What can you tell us?" asked Valjean.

Grantaire took a breath. "Well, it's not a curse on the room. Not exactly. There are protective curses in place, but I'm fairly certain this is a veela den."

"But that shouldn't be possible." Combeferre objected. Enjolras was half-veela but his veela magic only extended to being magically transfixing. He was often accused by his detractors of seducing people onto his side of an argument, an idea which Enjolras despised with every facet of his being.

"No, it shouldn't," Grantaire agreed, "which makes me think someone cursed him specifically, rather than this room."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Courfeyrac sighed.

"I would guess it's a delayed reaction from a previous curse. But I can go through and investigate once we have him."

"Are we going to break in?" Bossuet asked.

"Well, it's a terrible idea to break into a veela lair, but I suppose you lot don't want to call the ministry with something like this, so I might as well give it a go." He had some experience in working with magical creatures, though never specifically veela. "And I think you guys can take him. You know, if he has become a beautiful fireball flinging bird man." Not that he wasn't already to some extent.

"Proceed with caution," Valjean gestured to the blank space where the door had been.

Grantaire moved his wand over the unseen door in a circular motion, muttering counter curses under his breath, removing the layer upon layer of magic. His job was a lot like untangling magical knots, undoing enough of the magic that it spooled apart on its own, leaving the victim behind unburdened.

Untangling this web was not overly complicated but it took the better part of an hour before he was ready to attempt opening the door and by that time he was exhausted. Just as he was about to tie off the last spell he lost concentration for maybe half a second and felt something pull. He had a split second of dread, knowing he'd fucked something up but not knowing what.

He blinked and suddenly he could no longer see the wall, instead he was standing in the middle of a rocky valley. White-gray pyres extended into a hazy and sinister gray sky. He had accidently pulled himself into the pocket dimension of the den.

Grantaire's stomach clenched. He hadn't thought to cast a return thread and all of his magic would have been undone given that he hadn’t finished his casting.

He was trapped and on his own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R finds Enjolras and he’s a bit of a mess. Uh, mild warnings for disturbing imagery?

Grantaire took a steady breath. He was not in a panic; the sensation was more akin to having stepped into a puddle that was far deeper than he’d imagined, although here when he stumbled it was into another dimension full of potentially blood thirsty magical creatures.

Pulling himself in had been a stupid mistake. A stupid and entirely avoidable mistake. A potentially life endingly dangerous stupid mistake. But it was best to focus on the task at hand rather than dwell on what was done, he’d made more careless mistakes in his life than he cared to remember, the only thing to do when they happened was keep moving.

His knowledge on veela was somewhat limited, though he probably knew more than most. In his line of work, it was best to have a broad knowledge of everything. As far as he knew, veela nested in rocky caves, though it was his understanding that the den entrance was a doorway directly to the nest, which was obviously not the case here. There were only rocky cliffs and tufted plants in sight, no out of place doors lining the rocky walls of the valley. Perhaps veela did not nest in close proximity. Hopefully they did not, Grantaire knew they were territorial and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what would happen if he were discovered.

The reason information on veela was so scares in the first place was that so few wizards were able to travel into their realm and make it out in one piece. One would think that by this time there would be more information available on veela lore but even the friendliest of veela seemed to hold their tongue when discussing the innerworkings of their society, Grantaire assumed that there must be some old magic involved into upholding a mystique, many traditional pureblood families used the same sort of enchantments in order to keep rebellious family members from causing a fuss. To make up for the lack of solid informing, many a story had been told of foolish young witches and wizards seduced by the charms of a veela only to be whisked away to the nest and devoured. Now a days there were laws and treaties preventing that sort of thing, not that it didn’t still happen on occasion.

Cautiously, the wizard turned to examine the sheer incline of the cliff behind him. Imbedded in the stone was the door to the history of magic room which was at least somewhat visually comforting, at least he could see his way out. He would have to disenchant it from the inside and hope that he was not spotted. It would be intensely ironic if he died now, ripped to shreds by a passing veela on his way to rescue Enjolras from the unknown, failing to do his job.

Taking a deep breath, he drew his wand but as he opened his mouth to begin his first incantation, there was a scuffle of a sound on the rocks behind him, echoing in the stillness. Grantaire froze, ice in his blood as he turned to see Enjorlas.

The blond was standing on the edge of a plateau perhaps ten meters above Grantaire, looking down upon the valley. Enjorlas had always maintained a certain magnetism about him that came from being half-veela, but in the dim light he practically glowed.

Grantaire could feel his heart hammering in his throat. Enjolras tended to be cold and perhaps at times bordered on cruel, but presently he looked downright dangerous. Blood was smeared across his face and into his hair, his arms were dark and scaled with sizeable talons. Heat distorted the air around his arms, signaling the threat of a fireball, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows and stained with the rest of him red. He looked a true god damn horror, but god despite everything he was a fucking gorgeous sight. Somehow, Grantaire thought that seeing him would invoke some sort of deep seeded, unreleased anger. Not that he had been angry with him before, but he _should_ be furious, the rage would be justified, but he wasn’t, he was just filled to the brim with heart wrenching regret. It was almost painful to look at him for the ache between his ribs.

Merlin, more than three years since he'd seen that face outside of his memories. It suddenly seemed it had been two eternities where it had previously seemed one.

Last time he had seen Enjolras’ face, it had been slapped across an inner page of the Daily Prophet, which was announcing his disbarment. It was an open secret in the aftermath of the war that Enjolras had been plotting to overthrow the ministry. Grantaire remained incredulous that in the end the half-veela hadn't openly attacked the institution in some insane attempt at starting a full-scale revolution as he had always feared but instead, when the pureblood revolt had retreated to its former quiet distain, Enjolras had gone back to his law office and jumped right back into doing his job, throwing all of his unspent anger into locking up as many criminals as was possible, or at least that's what Grantaire imagined happened. For all he knew, a failed revolution could have been staged and then covered up by the ministry, though he doubted it. If that had really happened it wouldn’t have taken them a year to find some reason to disbar him. And he was sure the wizengamot were just itching for an excuse to remove him from his practice. Someone must have gone through every ancient rule in the books in order to site Enjolras' half-veela nature as grounds for removal and his success history as validation for charming the council in their rulings. Grantaire could only imagine how that must have gone over. There must have been an appeal, but the almighty minister Javert ruled on the side of the law, not morality.

Enjolras' angry retreat from the ministry had been animated in the pages of the Prophet in all its riotous fury. He looked nearly as wild as he did now, and it was probably the second angriest Grantaire had ever seen him. It was a wonder he didn’t set the building on fire on his way out. The curse-breaker half wished he had been there to see it, despite the fact that merely looking upon his black and white image was like a kick in the stomach at the time. He had tried to ignore the Prophet after that, he didn’t have time for it anyway.

"Enjolras." he breathed without realizing his mouth had moved.

The blond lifted his left arm in a jerky motion and suddenly a fireball was spiraling toward Grantaire’s head as he dove to the side, narrowly missing the flames. Perhaps he should have expected that, it wasn’t like he was anticipating a warm welcome.

He deflected the next scorching volley that came his way and cast a protective screen between them before turning back to his attacker.

Enjolras had leapt down to the valley floor, slowly standing from a crouch. The wizard’s best chance was to hit him with a stunner before he could get too close. He raised his wand, but when his eyes turned their gaze upon the veela their eyes met. There was a moment of disorientation before he found himself stumbling through his own charm to face the beast. He'd forgotten how strong the veela allure could be. It was hard enough to concentrate around him when he wasn't fully presenting and he _must_ be fully presenting, there was something altogether inhuman about him.

Grantaire had always resented the veela allure, it made him intensely nervous. Most people after getting to know Enjolras and his wild opinions would willfully resist his charms, but Grantaire wanted nothing more than to give in. That compulsion to be dazzled was altogether too tempting, so he tended to violently recoil when he could feel the magic pulling at him. Most of the time this aversion would present itself as random outbursts of nonsensical speech, to which he was already inclined, as a form of distraction but, sometimes it was more than that. There had been a particularly embarrassing incident in their sixth year.  

The two of them had detention together for professor Listolier, the herbology professor who came before Marius. Enjolras was not one who usually ended up in detention, not because he obeyed the rules, but rather because he would lawyer his way out of trouble and knew when to be strategically rebellious, most of the time that is. Or perhaps that was because he was constantly reminded by his friends to be reasonable. Whatever the case, this particular detention had been delivered after Enjolras had managed to sneak off into one of the adjacent areas of the greenhouse during the middle of class to steal a small fanged geranium that they were planning to nurture and harvest the pedals for brewing veritaserum. They had seen the tiny pot working in that particular wing the week before and Enjolras had decided it was worth the risk. Fanged geraniums were rare and their sale was kept under close regulation by the ministry. It was a fucking bold move, he cast a disillusionment charm on himself before slipping off and returned within minutes. It was all very smooth.

Unfortunately, after Enjolras returned to his place beside Courfeyrac and Combeferre, Grantaire looked around to see another Slytherin had been watching. Across the room, Montparnasse was smirking at the blond having noticed Enjolras slip the potted plant into Combeferre’s endless bag.

A sinking feeling in his stomach, Grantaire had made his way over to Montparnasse under the guise of helping him charm the leaches they were modifying to suck the sap from some sort of magical water plants that he hadn’t bother to learn the names of.

At Grantaire’s approach Montparnasse looked lazily smug. “You know, I think I just saw something rather interesting,” he said, casually prodding a leach with his wand and making a face as it squirmed.

“Perhaps you should get eyes checked.”

The Slytherin snorted, “Well, if it’s any interest to you, I think I could be persuaded to forget what I saw.”

“And what would that take?”

“Well, I’m and eye for an eye sort of guy and since blondie there got me locked away with Mabeuf the other day…” he trailed off.

“You want to put Enjolras in detention?” In history of magic Montparnasse had developed a habit of attempting to rip the pages out of other students’ books while they were reading. Enjolras despised everything about this little game of his, and so would issue counter hexes against his endeavors. During one of their power struggles, Montparnasse had lost control of his spell and had flung Bossuet’s book across the room where it shattered a window on its way out of the castle. The spell had been traced back to Montparnasse whose magic tended toward the light and prickly end of things. Montparnasse seemed to be perpetually in detention, and would be expelled in the latter half of that very year, but that didn’t mean he was any less bitter when he could blame someone else for his being there.

“Exactly, you know me, I’m not an unreasonable guy. I just want some entertainment; this class is terribly dull.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes, “Right, any suggestions?”

Montparnasse shrugged, “I want something spontaneous. Just attack him or something.”

“Start a fight in the middle of class? We might both end up in Javert’s office.”

“Sure, but better that than being outed for theft of a rare and restricted substance, I should think. And make sure he knows I did him a favor by not telling.” His smile was sharp and spiteful.

“Fine.” He returned to his previous place beside Bahorel who was giving him a strange look, which he ignored in favor of slyly sending a spider of a note Enjolras’ way reading: “Fight back, I’ll explain later. -R”

Once the note was received and read, Grantaire sent a very mild stinging charm at the other boy, which hit him squarely in the shoulder. Jolting with a gramace, Enjolras aimed a spell back. The class watched, transfixed as they exchanged hexes each time the professor turned his back. It was actually good fun dodging spells while trying to remain as motionless as possible in order to avoid suspicion, that is until Grantaire gave his hex a little too much power and it hit the engorged leech in Enjolras hands. The parasite swelled to twice its already large size and exploded with a loud pop, splattering sap and leech goo in every direction, leaving Enjolras and the rest of his class staring down at his hands in stunned silence.

In a rage, Listolier had demanded to know who had murdered is precious leech and gleefully Montparnasse told him that Grantaire and Enjolras had been exchanging curses behind his back. That had landed them both with three nights detention, but they did get to keep their fanged geranium, which would prove its worth in the coming years.

Their punishment was manually cleaning out the horrible mucky tanks for water plants that hung from the ceiling while they weren’t in use by the class. The containers were made of glass if the students looked up during class they could watch leeches and other creatures scuttling around in the gunk at the bottom. Joly had always hated the things, terrified they would break over his head, but Grantaire found watching them to be mildly entertaining in a grotesque sort of way, better than listening to boring lectures. However, to clean them out was tedious and messy. The hours passed in silence and horrible pond gunk smell. On the second night Listolier had stepped out for a moment to talk with the grounds keeper and while attempting to eavesdrop, Grantaire had moved a little too close to a venomous tentacula, which snagged his hair with a vine-y tentacle.

"Agh, it's got me. How do I make it stop? Ow." The plant tugged hard at his hair. He wanted to slap the thing but he couldn’t just grab at it because as soon as he did it would release its inlaid, highly poisonous thorns into his flesh.

"You could just use diffindo." Enjolras commented, wiping his hands off on a magically self-cleaning towel, despite the fact that the rest of him was still covered in gunk and they were only going to get dirtier as the night progressed.

"Yeah, great. Thanks, oh wise spell master. Unfortunately, we both seem to be lacking wands, so I guess I’ll just have to let it poison me. I suppose it’s what I deserve, I did kill a creature of the greenhouse in cold blood. It’s only fitting that there be some retaliation," he sighed as the plant continued to tug his hair.

"Here, let me help." Enjolras said, ignoring his melodrama, snagging a spare pair of dragons hide gardening gloves and began carefully prying the tentacles away from his dark curls. When he finished, he slipped the plant from the table, removed the gloves and ran a hand through Grantaire's hair to dislodge lingering leaves. Grantaire kept his head down, desperately trying not to get too caught up in the feeling of Enjolras’ fingers carding through his hair.

"There you go." The Slytherin let the curls flop back into place.

"They just wanted to get their grabby little tentacles in my hair." Grantaire grumbled glaring over at the plant, trying to distract himself from how close Enjolras was standing.

"Can't fault them that, you do have soft hair." His tone was a soft and absent sigh.

Startled by what sounded like a complement, Grantaire looked up into that angel’s face and for a moment his mind went completely blank, which sent him into a sheer panic. He felt his magic lashing out against the allure and suddenly they were soaked through with muddy water and covered in leaches. The basin above their heads had exploded like one of Joly’s anxious visions and they ended up with two additional days of detention, to be served separately.

Presently, Grantiare stopped a meter from the veela as if by instruction. He could see now that Enjolras showed no sign of recognizing him, his face was sharp, cold and breathtakingly beautiful but his eyes were empty of their history.

"Enjorlas," he said again somewhat desperately, "Do you know who I am?"

Enjolras made no reply, instead carefully stepping forward to inspect him, presumably assessing him for threats or perhaps sizing him up as a meal. It took Grantaire a moment to realize something was very wrong, apart from the obvious. Up close, he could see that Enjolras' eyes were bleeding red tears, the veela was wincing against it in order to see him. He was also breathing heavily, holding himself somewhat awkwardly at a slant, one arm appearing locked at his side. However, he did not look injured, there was no origin in sight for all that blood. Not thinking, Grantaire stumbled forward, wand raised. The veela tensed, flame erupting in his open palm but he did not attack when Grantaire did not lash out at him.

Seizing his chance, the curse-breaker made quick work of assessing the multitude of curses Enjolras was tangled in. It felt like a mess. Whatever the intention was it was badly cast, he wouldn’t be shocked if there were missing parts of the spell. On the surface there were a plethora of half-finished binding hexes, most of which had been broken. There were also a number of low-level curses, the most obvious one being that his eyes bled when he looked upon humans. That was more petty than anything. He'd seen it before cast upon a giant terrorizing nearby towns and killing travelers who passed his way as a form of deterrent. It took only a moment to clear away. The bindings took only a few moments more.

A look of puzzlement passed over Enjolars features as he blinked at Grantaire in the wake of the broken spells.

"Who did this to you?" he tried again, "Can you even understand me? I know veela can speak…" Although he had only ever heard of them speaking French.

Enjorlas considered him with newfound interest. He diminished the flickering fireball in his hand and when he opened his mouth, his lips moved but no sound came out. Grantaire again raised his wand, this time Enjorlas appeared only guarded, hesitantly allowing the wizard to step closer.

This was a more complex curse. It was more than a silencing charm, it removed the capability of speech altogether. It took him a good five minutes of fiddling as Enjolras slowly circled him. When the sound returned it was not human speech. Enjorlas was making a sound like wind chimes and tiny bells. It seemed to startle him when he heard it and Grantaire huffed a laugh as he jumped.

It was possible that he hadn’t fully removed the curse, but his bet was that this was veela speech. But how would that work? As far as he knew, Enjolras could not speak veela, so was he just making veela nonsense sounds or was it some sort of species-specific shared memory? Whatever, it wasn’t important at the moment.

Enjolras appeared to grow more curious than threatening at that point, stopping his circling in order to wander closer. Grantaire didn’t dare breathe as Enjorlas moved Grantaire's wand wielding hand to his chest. Slowly, Grantaire brought his other hand to touch the veela’s sternum, inhuman warmth radiated through his blood-soaked clothes. He whispered a series of detection spells. When he had an understanding of the magic, Grantaire flinched back. It was something he didn't have time to deal with now. A curse that made every breath burn.

Grimacing, he tested the strength of the spell, it was strong but only loosely attached. He could move it onto himself, that might make the veela more agreeable and win him a little trust.

Shifting curses was immensely difficult magic with a lot of room for error. Luckily, it was also Grantaire’s specialty. He had taken on more curses than any other curse-breaker he knew of that were still sane and physically capable, that is. Curse-breakers tended to end up insane or disfigured if they didn’t leave the job voluntarily.

He focused, removing the tendrils of the curse from Enjolras and allowing them to attach to himself. When the shift was completed Grantaire found himself clutching his chest. With each expansion of his lungs, pain shot through his ribs, burning through his body across his skeletal structure. It wasn't the worst curse he'd endured, but it wasn't pleasant.

In that moment where Grantaire withered, Enjorlas was radiant, bell-like voice chirping happily as he beamed at Grantaire with the intensity of the sun. Not lingering in his cheerful moment, he took Grantaire's wandless hand this time and brought his fingers to his mouth.

"I don’t understand." Grantaire wheezed dazed, pained, and confused.

Enjorlas moved his hand to the side, parted his lips and bit softly at the inside of Grantaire's wrist. His teeth were razor sharp. There were a few seconds of shrill pain that was nothing compared to the rattling agony in his bones, and the second the creature drew blood, he was gagging and clutching at his throat.

Food aversion. That was just cruel. The curse was complex, preventing the intake of sustenance, and consuming twenty minutes of disenchantment to unweave. Without thinking, when he had finished, he made a cut to renew the flow of blood at his wrist and offered it to Enjolras who lapped it up, clasping the wizard’s hand and elbow. That was... Focus. He needed to focus but he was frozen in place. In that moment he would have let the veela drain him of every drop of blood, but it seemed that was not his intention.

When Enjolras pulled back, licking the blood from his lips, he eyed the wizard like a particularly clever pet. Grantaire shook himself, in a hurry to stop his own bleeding. As he finished, Enjolras tugged at his sleeve, moving toward a slope at the cliff’s edge from which he had descended. The indication being that Grantaire follow.

Grantaire hesitated, glancing back at the door. If no one could get it open on the other side, they would be forced to call a ministry curse-breaker and that would be a mess. But he also didn’t want to have to fight Enjolras into letting him stay. He wasn’t sure he could in his current state. He did not have time to consider how he would go about fighting off his former schoolmate, for when he noticed he wasn't being followed, Enjorlas compelled him forward with the allure, Grantaire’s legs moving before he even realized what was happening. As he climbed, he was forced to put conscious effort into remaining awake as his body attempted to shut down under the pressure of a new curse and physical exhaustion.

Halfway up the cliff there was a cave set back in the rock, Enjolras all but glided inside while Grantaire hesitated, smelling blood and burned flesh. He illuminated the tip of his wand and proceeded cautiously forward, a sick feeling in his stomach. The blood spatters started only a few feet in, speckling the light gray of the stone and forming heavy pools the farther in he traveled. Ten meters back and off to the side, Enjolras was crouched over something which looked alarmingly like a charred body. The veela gave a sharp movement and when he turned he was brandishing a burned human arm, wrenched free at the shoulder.

Grantaire felt the earth shift around him as Enjorlas held out the appendage as an offering, making a pleasant tinkling sound in the back of his throat. The world was suddenly feeling very fuzzy. He must have passed out because he opened his eyes moments later flat on his back, Enjorlas hovering over him in concern, his voice an insistent choir of chiming bells. He felt a little ridiculous for having fainted when he had seen worse than his and not flinched. Though, perhaps under the circumstances he was only a heartbeat from unconsciousness anyway. When he pulled himself upright Enjolras again tried to offer the arm, Grantaire turned his face away, unable to find the energy to make a verbal protest. 

There was a tearing sound and when he looked back Enjolras had taken a bite out of the arm. In horror Grantaire jerked forward, attempting to wrestle the limb away with an incoherent shout. Enjolras tugged it back, annoyed, taking another mouthful of human flesh in protest.

"Dammit, stop! Please- Just don't! I know it's not technically cannibalism, but I'm not going to let you eat someone. I know you’re hungry but-" He tried to get to his feet as Enjolras shielded the arm from him, but he instead stumbled, gasping in agony, his vision going hazy.

At this, Enjolras abandoned the arm in favor of dragged the human over to a tattered pile of clothes and soft tufts the same tufted plant Grantaire had seen lining the cliff edges. It looked rather like the pathetic start of a nest. Carefully, setting Grantaire into place Enjorlas kneeling over him with a look of frustrated concern.

Grantaire gave a gasping laugh. "What is this? Have you adopted me? You’re being very careful. I’m sorry, I don’t know veela customs well. I feel very honored to be hear as your back up meal, I assure you." He tried to sit up but Enjolras pushed him back down. "I'm fine. It's just hard to function right now. I have to get back to that door so that some ministry bastard doesn’t show up and make a mess of things.”

Enjolras only cocked his head, not moving his hand from the center of Grantaire’s chest. The wizard sighed in frustration. “What I wouldn’t give to hear your voice right now, even if it was just to hear you shout at me, you are very good at shouting at me, or you were… Anyway, this curse is a load of shoddy garbage, so hopefully I can get you through this quickly. I’m not sure how the fuck they transformed you though. Or mostly transformed. Why haven't you got wings? You seem nearly all veela otherwise." Or perhaps he did have wings already. Veela held their wings in a different plane of existence when they weren’t in use to prevent them bumping into things. “Ah, and I haven’t even started messing around with your memory…”

Memory charms could wait until he wasn’t half-unconscious, for now he could at least take stock of the physical transformation. Slowly and carefully, Grantaire reached out and lifted Enjolras hand from his torso, turning it palm up. They looked like human hands with black bird scales. Moving along toward his elbow there was skin still peeling back to make room for new growth.

"This must have been painful." Grantiare commented, running a hand over the scales, feeling out the magic. He pulled back when Enjolras made a soft sound. "So, what happened, Enj? Who did you piss off?" 

Enjorlas had been cursed many times over. Mostly hexes in school. Once he’d gotten into his field things had become more serious. Enjolras had gone into wizard law just out of hogwarts and had received multiple low-level curses. Joly had taken care of most of them, turning to Courfeyrac when they were more specific to the charms than to biology. By that point Grantaire had been sucked into the ministry curse-breaker program, which involved a lot of travel and gave him little time to spare, but Les Amis kept him informed and owled him in when the curses were of a more complex nature so that he could send back advice. He was still involved but that was where the distance had begun, with his career.

It was strange to see him like this now; his expressions were oddly open in a way that he’d never seen. Not that Enjolras didn't have his moments of openness, but he was usually too consumed in other matters to show vulnerability. Looking into his eyes made Grantaire’s vision swim and his head go fuzzy. There was still no hint of recognition. He wasn't sure whether or not it would be a good idea to attempt legilimency. Probably not but it was tempting. Not that it was likely to work anyway, Enjolras had always been a very good occlumens. It wouldn’t do for a revolutionary to walk about shouting his thoughts at anyone who might be listening.

"I promise I'll fix this. Ironically, I'm probably _the_ most qualified person for this task. Lucky you.” Or perhaps it wasn’t luck at all.

With a noise almost like a hum, Enjolras leaned down, crossing his arms across Grantaire’s chest and nestled his head into his crossed arms, his body slumped to the side. Grantaire inhaled in a sharp breath that sent his head spinning with pain. He was sure that Enjolras would probably murder him if he knew he was letting this happen, but the bird like creature he had become was covered in human blood and shrugging him off when he looked comfortable didn’t seem a very good idea and he was really too tired to try.

“Who was that body over there anyway?” Grantaire asked himself his mind reaching for distraction, belatedly the question hit him with its strangeness. The veela likely hadn’t had the time to go out and hunt a victim and it wasn’t someone from the school or Valjean would have said something. It must have been someone who was already there. But who would be stupid enough to travel alone into the veela realm and unlucky enough to run into a newly transformed veela. It felt a little too coincidental. Perhaps it was the caster of this curse, killed because the binding spells were so horribly preformed. Buy why risk something so dangerous? Probably a personal grudge, but there was an all too long list of people who wished harm upon Enjolras, that didn’t exactly narrow down the suspects. What would they have done with him if all had gone to plan? Various bits and pieces of veela were used in potion making and rituals, perhaps they wanted to scrap him for parts, or maybe someone wanted a pretty pet.

Enjolras himself was currently unconcerned with these dark thoughts, he was smiling sleepily at Grantaire and making soft pleasant cooing sounds. It was overwhelmingly endearing and Grantaire was not sure what to do with himself but part of him had to laugh, it hardly seemed fair that Enjolras would be so sweet to him after all this time. Perhaps he had finally proven his worth.

"You cannot imagine what I would have given to be in this position back in school,” Grantaire sighed, “And I really hope you didn’t understand that."

The closest he’d ever gotten to anything overtly affectionate from the blond was in the seventh year. Javert insisted that every year there be an official seventh year ball as was tradition hundreds of years ago. Attendance was mandatory and the atmosphere was stuffy and oppressive. Grantaire had made the best of the situation, getting spectacularly drunk on a hidden stash of firewisky and dancing with every witch or wizard who offered. He was a fucking awesome dancer and had taken his turn with each of Les Amis, save Enjolras who spent the entire night brooding in a corner, not even Combeferre had managed to coax him out. During a lull in the dancing, when Grantaire was too drunk to think better of it, he approached the sullen blond who was rebelliously dressed in sleek red robes.

“Are you trying to hex Javert with the psychic powers of your mind?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.

“What?” the blond blinked at him, startled at his sudden approach.

“You’re surrounded in a deadly dark aura,” he said in dramatic imitation of their crackpot divination professor.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, “I don’t enjoy formal dances.”

“Have you been to many?”

“More than I care to remember.” Enjolras came from an ancient and very wealthy pureblood family, his father was known to have much pull in the ministry and undoubtably hosted many such dances, not that Enjolras attended any longer, he had been disowned halfway through their fifth year and was now happily living with Combeferre’s family, though the resentment obviously lingered.

“So, you can dance then?”

Enjolras leaned back, arms crossed, “If it is required of me.”

“And how are your steps?”

“Graceful enough, though I don’t have your talent for it,” he shrugged.

“You’ve been watching me dance, Apollo? I blush.”

“Hard to avoid, at the start you seemed to be the only one putting any effort to having a good time.”

“I hope I’ve been entertaining. Do you have to test your claim?”

“Which claim?” “That you step gracefully.”

The half-veela raised a perfect eyebrow, “You’re asking me to dance?”

“It sure sounds that way,” Grantaire’s disobedient mouth insisted, “I’ve danced with everyone else, my toes are bruised from dancing with Bossuet if you require the proof. Though if you’ve been watching I suppose you do not need it,” he babbled.

Enjolras considered him for a moment. “Very well.”

“Really? And here I was expecting to be slapped and shouted away.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, I’m not going to slap you for asking me to dance.”

“So, you say,” Grantaire said lightly, “So, who shall lead?”

“You are the better dancer, I will follow your direction.”

Grantaire laughed, “Oh, a dangerous choice. Are you sure that is wise? I am wild, who knows where we might end up under my guidance.”

“I will trust your judgment in this.” He lifted his hand to Grantaire as if he had been the one asking for the dance and not the other way around. The Ravenclaw had taken said hand and pulled them out onto the floor for the start of a new dance.

The movements were fast paced and traditional, the room was spinning and Enjolras was so very close. True to his word, he danced with enough grace to be considered fair. As they twirled, Grantaire spoke nonsensically, not even remembering what he said after the words left his mouth. He worried it might be irritating but when they finished Enjolras was half smiling.

Upon observing this, Grantaire had grinned. “Ah, the dancing cynic has stolen a smile from the sullen revolutionary. Perhaps the next time we enter a verbal fight I should attempt to dance away your frown.”

“If all our arguments ended in dances, I believe you would have me at a disadvantage.”

“Then it is fortunate for you they do not, I would dance you into submission any day of the week.”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed in mild amusement he opened his mouth for a reply but, they were suddenly surrounded by friends wishing to take their turn dancing with Enjolras. By the night’s end Enjorlas’ half smile had extended into a full grin. Before everyone had gone back to the common rooms, Enjolras had caught him by the arm and thanked him softly, pushing his messy blond hair back from his face, color was high in his cheeks from the activity and perhaps more than a little firewhisky. Grantaire was sure he’d said something stupid as his brain short circuited but Enjolras had smiled in return, leaning forward to hug him of all things. He leaned heavily on the Ravenclaw, who hesitantly lifted a hand to awkwardly pat him. When the moment lingered, Grantaire let his hand rest there, unsure of what to do. Enjolras did not move until they both heard Courfeyrac calling for him from the hall leading to the stairs, at which point he turned his head to shout a reply, withdrew from Grantaire, clasping his shoulders with a grin, and wandered off in the direction of their friend’s voice. The interaction had been so strange he asked Joly on the way back to the dormitory if Enjolras had hit his head at any point in the night. He apparently hadn’t. They never talked about it, after the winter holiday their futures were being decided and the conversations between them grew tense.

As Grantaire stared up at the cave ceiling in frustration, he felt his eyes shift magnetically back to the blond who remained watching him carefully. Grantaire traced an outline of his form when he saw something odd. His shirt was awkwardly bunched over both shoulder blades where there would be wings. Carefully, he reached out a hand and felt the lump with his left hand. Enjolras hissed his talons digging into Grantaire's chest, but he did not move away.

Grantaire hushed him, using a spell to cut through the fabric and leaning up for a better look. The skin below was stretched to the breaking point, before his eyes growing slowly thinner. He placed his hands near the start of the strain and Enjolras gave a warning sound, but only seemed to press closer to him. Grantaire tested out the magic. This seemed to be the last string that had yet to snap into place, for all the shoddy casting, the transformation magic involved was solid. Best to let it do so on its own, lest he mess something up, transformations were delicate processes. There was nothing to do but let them carry out. That was the worst thing about transforming curses, if there was any interference during the process it risked permanent damage to the patient. As long as the curse was allowed to work to its intent the curse-breaker had a line to follow back to the original state. During the war, he had been forced to watch a number of transformations, the works being witch who was forced to go through a grotesque hour-long transformation into a magpie before he could aid her.

Grantaire leaned back dreading that he’d have to watch the transition, oblivious Enjolras relaxed against him, letting his eyes fall shut. His peace did not last long as the transformation gripped him.

Within moments Enjolras rolled onto his side, writhing in pain and shouting in jarring noises. Wings were beginning to protrude from his back, wet and bloody, a sickly smelling clear liquid pouring from the split skin.

When the growth had stopped, the wings looked newborn. Enjorlas was panting heavily. Grantiare cast a pain numbing spell and Enjolras looked up at him gratefully. He then delicately went about cleaning up the new wings with a light layer of charms. Free of bodily fluids they were unimaginably soft, shimmering white in the darkened cave. Enjolras did not seem to mind that Grantaire ran his hands through the feathers. He pushed the wizard back into the nest and crawled half on top of him, face pressed his shoulder, wings lying flat behind him, covering them both like a blanket.

He gave a shudder and the wings shimmered out of existence. Grantaire's hand sunk through the air, though the heavy warmth they provided remained tangible. Exhausted beyond belief, Grantaire allowed himself a second to savor this moment, despite the pain, Enjolras was close to him and as terrible as it may be that was all he’d ever wanted. His eyes drifted shut.

When they opened again the cave was echoing with the sound of an explosion. Enjorlas was at the entrance in an instant, Grantaire painfully scrambling after him, grabbing the back of his shirt and trying to avert his attention from what he assumed was a rescue attempt.

"Mister Grantaire," came an unfamiliar shout. Grantaire felt his stomach drop, hoping against hope that somehow it was not a ministry worker.

Enjolras pulled away from his grip and dropped down onto the lower plateau, invisible wings allowing him to land with grace, Grantaire rushing after him along the path they had taken on their way up to the nest. The ministry worker was unfamiliar to him, the hogwarts staff could be seen gazing through the now open doorway, the door having been blown off its hinges. The fact that they were not all wandering in to help made Grantaire wonder if a spell hadn’t been cast to hold them back.

 Grantaire grabbed the back of Enjolras shirt again and pulled him back as he stepped forward. He raised his hands as if surrendering, "I'm here and I'm fine."

"Whose blood is he covered in?" asked the unknown man, his robes identified him as an Auror rather than a specific curse-breaker, not a particularly good sign.

"I'm not sure, someone apparently was in here before me. The body is up in there."

"Can you come down?"

Grantaire stepped forward but Enjorlas grabbed him about the waist, hauling him back and placing himself between the wizard and the exit. "Uh, that might be a little difficult, he seems to think I’m useful."

Without warning the Auror shot a wordless spell at them, which Grantaire instinctively deflected. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Trying to sedate him,"

"I was going to suggest you leave and I guide him out, but now you've spooked him." A fireball was already spiraling toward the door, which the man deflected.

“Just stun him and I can be on my way,” the Auror shouted up at him, dodging a series of increasingly large fireballs.

Bitterly, Grantaire grit his teeth and shot a stunner into Enjolras’ turned back. And there it was, no fucking loyalty, that was why he wasn’t a Hufflepuff. Enjolras gave a shocked sound that stabbed at Grantaire’s heart. He grabbing him before he could tumble into the valley, magically lifting the unconscious veela as he leaped down casting a silent slowing charm as he fell.

The Auror was there in an instant, locking the veela’s wrists with restrictive bindings and casting a series of immobilizing charms.

"Where will you take him?" Grantaire asked.

"That is none of your concern."

"It is my fucking concern, he's still cursed." He still had a job to finish.

“He’s a wild animal.”

"He’s an intelligent magical creature and he needs medical attention. We should keep him here in hogwarts so that he's close to his den."

“He killed someone, a full investigation will take place and for the time being he will be placed in ministry custody.” The man stood to leave but Grantaire grabbed his arm to prevent his apparating away. They were not technically on Hogwarts grounds and he knew that the ministry had tricks for slipping in and out of the veela realm. Although such trespassing was technically illegal.

“You can’t seriously be thinking of holding him in Azkaban. The Center for Magical-Creature relations should at least-”

"As I said it's none if your concern, now step aside and I’ll be on my way."

Biting his tongue, Grantaire released his arm, blood boiling. The Auror released the barrier between the veela realm and the school, grabbed Enjorlas roughly by the back of his shirt and apparated away. As they vanished, Grantaire hunched forward, suddenly feeling out if breath. His burning body sapping his energy. Hands were grabbing at him as he was pulled through the doorway back into the castle.

"-can’t just do this," Cofeyrac was insisting as Grantaire’s brain caught up with what was happening, "They'll have this all over the papers. What are we going to do?" he was looking to the headmaster.

"Nothing," Grantiare said, "I'll handle it. I have… favors to call in. I can at least get him into St Mungos... Then I can work on breaking down the remaining curses."

"What's wrong with him?" asked Combeferre.

"A lot of things, some sort of transforming curse. I'll explain later. I have to go hunt some people down." he started walking unsteadily toward the stairs, determined to get started right away.

"Hang on. Are _you_ okay, is there can we do anything to help?" Eponine grabbed his arm as he was passing.

He shrugged her off, he had to get moving now. "I’m fine, it's best if I see to this personally. I'll send an owl as soon as I have things worked out."

She scowled at him but Valjean cut in.

“Perhaps you should take the floo network,” he suggested, steering Grantiare toward an empty classroom and summoning a bag of floo powder. “You’ll have to move quickly before they have a chance to make him disappear. We will do what we can to make sure that does not happen, but I’ll trust your judgment in what comes next.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire said hastily, taking a fist full of powder, “I promise I will get things worked out.”

“I’m sure you will.”

With a nod, he vanished in a torrent of green flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean veela have to eat people, right? What's the point of seducing humans if they don't? and these veela are attractive to witches and wizards bc I say so. I just wanted this to be a little more complex than the typical “veela must find mate now pon farr sort of deal” so veela e is more like “oh who is this lovely useful creature?? He is a delight and I will cherish him independently of my biological urges.”
> 
> Also making marius the care of magical creatures’ teacher was so so tempting but I can imagine him spacing out thinking about flowers more than I can fantastic beasts. 
> 
> As an aside, the American school system is horrible and stressful and I want to go back to England bc im dying T-T
> 
> Thanks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> St Mungos is a hassle and R managed to get E speaking English again, not that it’s especially helpful. Warnings for allusions to substance abuse.

In the end it took 4 owls, 7 threats, 9 unannounced office visits, 12 hours, and a whole lot of shouting to get Enjorlas a place at St Mungos but it was done. He was placed in the prison sector rather than the magical creature ward, but that was as good as it was going to get.

Finally, Grantaire found himself standing outside the high security wing of the hospital attempting to explain his way into the veela’s room through his exhaustion. He'd managed to get some measure of sleep between waiting for owl responses but it had done little to aide his mental state. He was at the point of full body fatigue, the world around him was beginning to take on a quality of unreality. Merlin, what he wouldn’t give for a stimulant.

"No, you don't understand," he was arguing with the level 1 mediwizard who had been absurdly assigned to take care of Enjolras' case. "I have to work on this." The high security wing required receptive charms on the proper Healers in order to grant passage through the protective wards.

The boy cringed against Grantaire’s insistence, obviously out of his depth. "I'm sorry sir, but I can’t just let you in without the proper permission."

"Hells bells, which Healer are you working under? I need to talk to someone in charge." Grantaire did not technically have the on-paper authority to work in the hospital, but because he was a former ministry curse-breaker he was able to work temporarily on staff as a consultant when needed. If the hospital weren’t so closely associated with the ministry he might consider working there full time, that is, if they would let him and that was not likely to happen given his history. Certain members of the staff had been privy to a little too much in the way of erratic behavior.

"What is going on?" a voice echoed down the hall, approaching from the main body of the building. Grantaire’s heart sank, he knew that reproachful tone.

"Healer Gillenormand," Grantaire greeted coldly, "I assume this case falls under your authority then." He imagined a few strings had been pulled in order to make that happen. The Gillenormand family was old and noble, they had a history for raising ministers and were thus closely allied to the ministry. Marius had never quite been able to shake that bias, despite his poor standing with his grandfather and his insistence otherwise.

"Mister Grantaire, you would be correct," the healer replied in an equally frigid tone. "And I assume this is also one of yours. Unless you're here to turn yourself in for something."

"I need clearance to get through," he glowered. According to the law, he was still allowed to fulfill his duty as a curse-breaker if he chose to assist in the healing of the patient, the catch being that he didn’t impede recovery. Not that this case was likely to get a lot of attention from the medical staff while they searched for a way to legally incarcerate the patient.

"I don’t know, you're looking a touch fatigued. Perhaps you shouldn’t be seeing patients, we can always set up your old bed for you." She said sharply.

"I'll be fine," he insisted through a hot spike of irritation.

"Very well, but only because I must." She jabbed him hard in the chest with her wand. He felt the threads of a spell wash over him. Turning sharply, he walked through the protective barrier and into the high security ward. Healer Gillenormand followed him, presumably because it was standard procedure to have at least two people in the room at all times with veela patients, in case they tried to charm their way into something dangerous. They could only directly compel one wizard at a time, though they could transfix any number.

Once they were through the entrance, Healer Gillenormand took the lead, bringing them to a small, dim room at the end of the hall. The rooms did not look especially different to those in the rest of the hospital, though that had not always been the case. In the last few years an anonymous donor had gifted the hospital enough money to redesign the prisoner holding rooms so that it looked less like a horrible dungeon and more like your average hospital wing. Still, the chill of dementors drifted through the halls and the feeling remained oppressive.

Enjolras did not have dementor guards, as they would have no effect on a veela, but he did have an annoyed looking Auror sitting in a chair outside his room, shuffling through a stack of rumpled paperwork. This man, Grantaire unfortunately recognized as Auror Bamatabois, they had worked side by side in the streets of Manchester during a short span of the war, it was near the end of the fighting when things were especially bad. Grantiare had been forced to take the lead on the mission, though he had only been intended to be there was medical support, because while Bamatabois was a big talker, he was lazy to the point of incompetence. They had been sent in to retrieve ministry hostages from pureblood radicals. When the mission was completed successfully, Bamatabois had taken every drop of credit, not that Grantaire had cared, at that point his life was one mission after another in the wake of his removal from Les Amis.

The man did not look up as they passed into the room.

Inside, Enjorlas was strapped onto a thin bed, the blood had been cleared away and his clothes replaced by a pale blue hospital gown. His wings were visible, laying awkwardly over the edges of the bed, lifeless. As they approached it became clear that he was heavily drugged, his eyes cloudy and lids heavy, though he was awake. He looked as tired as Grantaire felt and his face was pinched in a pained grimace. Despite his condition, the veela appeared to respond to their presence, he opened his mouth, but his eyes slipped closed and he said nothing.

"Merlin, what do you have him on?" Grantaire all but gasped.

"He was apparently very difficult to strap down, he kept trying to light his handlers on fire after he broke through their restrains. We had to establish additional wards to hold him, but potions were the best option to keep him civil."

"I could have helped if I were here. He seemed to trust me." If he hadn't destroyed that trust by backstabbing him. "Have you done a baseline yet?"

"Yes, we detected 35 intertwined spells, 17 of which are curses. It looks like a ritual curse with a transformation basis."

"You shouldn’t have drugged him. I'm going to have to wait for the potion to leave his system before I can start messing with the full body curse."

"I trust our staff enough not to give him something that would cause interference."

"Good for you, I'm not taking any chances." Not that the staff would intentionally harm the patients, but he'd had one case where a mediwizard had given a sleeping potion to the patient that caused her skin to sluff away when Grantaire tried to remove a cursed locket from its place latched to her arm. When it came to unknown curses it was best to be as careful as possible.

"We have the best staff in the country-"

"And I'm sure they will understand my caution."

Her mouth snapped shut in annoyance. "I was informed that we are to deal with this as quickly as possible. The ministry is in the process of building a case, they won’t let him stay for long. There may not be time for caution.”

“You let me worry about that.” He turned back toward the bed, trying to will Enjolras back into is former state to no avail.

There was a short pause before she spoke again. “Grantaire,” she said in an even tone, “I want you to know that in my handing this over to you, I expect you to behave yourself."

That didn’t dignify a response.

"I mean it, as far as I'm concerned you shouldn't be working at all, one toe out of line and you are finished. Am I understood?"

"Understood."

"Good. I'll have my mediwizard watch you while you're working." She made a gesture behind her and the mediwizard Grantaire had been arguing with before wandered out of the doorway. “You let me know if there is any break in protocol,” she told the boy sharply.

“Yes, Healer,” the boy said quietly.

Before leaving the Healer proceeded to whisper something to him, but Grantaire ignored their exchange, approaching Enjolras’ side. The veela's eyes followed him, a wing twitching at his approach.

"How are you feeling, Enj?" Grantiare murmured as he tested the magic that surrounded him, a good deal of it was muddled by the potion mixture in his system. He heaved a heavy sigh. It wasn’t the staff's fault, he reminded himself. They were obscure spells and they had to act quickly.

"What's wrong?" the boy asked timidly, appearing no less shaky now that his superior had gone. "Sorry, I'm just trying to learn."

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Mediwizard Magnon, sir.”

“Well, mediwizard Magnon, the sedatives are interfering with the magic. I'm going to have to wait for them to clear his system before I can actually make a start... Unless we can purge the potions from his body. Can you run down to rehab and grab half a bottle of their class B intake potion?"

"Yes, sir-" he turned before breaking off and turning back, "I mean, yes but I'm not supposed to leave you in here alone."

"Right." Grantaire forced himself from the bedside, “Let’s go then.”

They parted ways outside the door, curse-breaker lingering next to the Auror guard. Magnon had turned back, unsure but Grantaire had waved him along, assuring him that the Auror would not let him back inside.

“I don’t suppose there is any point in asking where the investigation stands,” Grantaire commented, watching the ministry worker scribble away at his parchment.

“That information is confidential,” Bamatabois said in an insufferable tone, not bothering to look up.

“Do they know who was killed?”

“Confidential,” the Auror repeated with a grin, “I wouldn’t put too much effort into this one, it’ll be out of your hands soon enough.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“That we will, and once my bosses have finished locking him up, I’m sure they’ll want to have a word with you. The curse-breaker division has been suffering in your absence.”

Grantaire felt as though he had just swallowed a mouthful of sand. “I’m sure they get on just fine without me.”

Bamatabois finally looked up from whatever he was working on. “Nonetheless, they want to speak with you and I assured them I could convince you to join up, given our history. You _will_ talk to them, won’t you.” The words were phrased like a question but given as a command.

Grantaire had the sudden urge to freeze the man’s head in block of ice in order to watch him topple over and shatter into a million pieces. “Of course, I will… I am always happy to assist the ministry where I can.”

“They will be glad to hear that.” He turned back to his papers. “Now, off with you.”

Grantaire turned away, uneasy and filled with dread. He made off toward the owlery in order to send a message to the Hogwarts staff explaining the situation, upon his return he heard someone call his name.

"Grantaire!"

Grantaire turned to see a familiar face rushing toward him.

"Healer Simplice, it is good to see you." It was, Healer Simplice had been in charge of his health while he had been a patient in the hospital, and had acted as a comforting voice in a difficult time.

“Are you here for a case?” she asked, enveloping him in a hug.

"Yes, I was just about to head back."

She quickly drew back, eyes searching his face and worrying at what she saw. "Come speak with me first."

"I really need to-"

"Grantaire," she warned.

"Fine," he relented.

She led them through the halls and into a small office. A kettle on the side of her desk poured two cups of tea at their approach, one of which floated into Grantaire’s hands.

"So,” the Healer turned to assess him, “how are you?"

"Oh, you know me. I am the very picture of healthy living."

She shook her head. "You look awful. When was the last time you slept?"

“I take breaks as I can. The timing was just a bit off switching between cases this time."

"You _must_ rest."

The curse-breaker shook his head, "I can't."

“If you don’t sleep you will get sloppy.” And he knew all too well how dangerous sloppy curse breaking could be, that had been the reason he’d given up drinking. Early on in the war and half drunk, he’d dissolved a man’s skull in his head while trying to undo a standard blinding curse. Luckily, he’d been able to reverse the damage he’d done but it had left him shaken enough to quit.

Out with the depressants and in with the stimulants, they at least kept the mind sharp and focused.

“My mind is moving too fast for sleep to catch it.”

"What is this curse? You seem especially fixated."

"Just... An old school friend…" he swiftly explained the parameters of the case.

“It is personal then.”

“Yes, I want to finish this as quickly as possible, the ministry is not going to give me much time to work.”

"True but, I'm not going to let you leave until you've rested."

“Then you will have to stun me.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Drug me then.”

“I will give you a mild sleep aid and nothing more.”

"At least let me work on restoring his communication first. That will at give him a voice for his issues. Please," he insisted when she frowned, standing from his chair and wavering as he drew in too sharp a breath, a wave of dizziness threatening to overtake him. "I'm fine,” he assured, putting a hand to the wall to steady himself.

"You've taken on a curse," the Healer said in outrage, “You promised me you would stop doing that.”

He hadn’t kept that promise, he had only stopped taking on the curses he could not remove alone. When he was committed, he had at least 10 lifted curses that he could remember. It had taken a team of curse-breakers two months to break down the magic and every so often he would still suffer their effects. "I was in a dangerous situation and it was the best option. It's fine. It just needs a breath of life potion and a few counter-curses. I can deal with it later."

"I'll get someone to work up that potion for you,” Healer Simplice huffed, “You have until then to work on the patient."

"Thank you." That would give him maybe a little over two hours, breath of life had to be freshly brewed to achieve the desired effect.

“This conversation is not over. I want you to be careful.” “I am always careful.”

“And do not push yourself too hard, a Healer can only do so much.”

He did not respond, to deny that he would hold back would be a lie and did not wish to lie to the Healer any more than he had to.

* * *

Grantaire returned to ward as Magnon was returning with the potion, together they reentered the room.

"Right, stand behind me, this likely won’t be pretty." Grantaire slowly lifted Enjolras into as sitting position, holding his head in place as he carefully tipped the contents of the potion into the blonde’s slack mouth. The potion took a moment to come into effect. Grantaire stepped back as Enjolras gasped, his eyes suddenly wide as he started to writh against his invisible restraints, sweet smelling vapors lifting from his exposed skin.

Grantaire knew the feeling all too well. As if an unseen force was burning away at the skin while prickling like million tiny needles all over the body, intensely unpleasant, but it was the fastest way to purge potions from the system. It would be enough to allow work on the surface curses; the transformation would still have to wait until his body had time to organically clear all traces of the potion.

On the bed as the vapors diminished, Enjolras went from pained to combative in an instant. The veela tried to sit up, but found himself restricted. In frustration he struggled only more fiercely, heat gathering in the air around him.

Grantaire stepped back up to the bed, speaking in slow calm tones. "Shh calm down. I'm trying to help..." If he did not stop his struggling, he would alert the Auror in the hall to an issue and Bamatabois tended to be cruel when he could get away with it. Grantaire reached recklessly toward the veela, ignoring the heat boiling the surrounding air. As he moved closer, Enjoras reached up to grab his hand, a motion that should have been restricted by the magic. However, the veela managed grab the nearing hand, searing the flesh as they touched. As soon as Grantaire felt the pain, Enjolras was drawing back looking startled with himself and making alarmed chimes the wizard, who had jerked back in shock.

"Are you okay?" Magnon asked in alarm.

He stared at the damaged flesh but not really feeling it. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's-“ he was cut off as Bamatabois burst into the room, prompted by the breaking of the restraints. “Everything’s fine,” Grantiare said as the Auror seemed confused at the lack of a struggle. Grantaire clasped his shaking hand in a fist at his side. Having turned his back to the veela, he startled as he felt warm, scaled fingers gently tug at his burned hand. When he looked over, the veela was regarding the wound mournfully.

“Things are not fine, he’s broken his restrains,” the man charged forward to reestablish the magic, Enjolras making horrible sounds at him.

Grantaire grasped the hand he had taken, applying enough pressure to remind him he was there. “I’m going to need you to calm down, E." He pressed the blond back to the bed with one hand on his chest as the Auror bound him more securely than was probably necessary. Enjolras allowed this, giving Grantaire a wary look but settling back in his bed nonetheless.

“I was just on my way in anyway,” the Auror said when he had finished, “there's a group of people out in the lobby who want to know what's going on in here and they refuse to leave. The staff wanted me to deal with it, but I thought it seemed more your area."

"I’ll be glad to spare you the trouble," Grantaire rolled his eyes. That must be the Hogwarts staff, he had some questions for them anyway. He turned toward the veela. "Behave." he warned. Enjolras glared at him, a painfully familiar expression, though it was somehow comforting.

As they exited, the Auror lingered.

“I’d advise you come out with us, he’s less likely to fuss without us there. And you’ll know if he gets out.” Grantaire said warily, wanting to minimize Enjolras contact with hostile entities as much as possible, he didn’t need any additional charges against him.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” Bamatabois spat, though he followed them out of the room nonetheless.

Eponine, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Joly, Bossuet, Jehan, Marius, and the blond Granaire did not know waited in the lobby. Grantiare moved the teachers into a spare room to talk rather than standing around out in the open.

"Grantaire, what's going on?" Combeferre asked as they settled.

"He has a bed and I'm in charge of his recovery, so that's good. Now it's just a matter of working out what's actually wrong."

"Can we see him?"

"No. Unfortunately, I can't smuggle you into the prison ward. They barely want to let me through. I did want to talk to Jehan though."

"What is it?" the potions master asked.

"Have you ever worked in matters of creature transformation?" Jehan had worked as an unspeakable in the department of mysteries during the war, spying on the ministry from within to aid Enjolras' cause.

Jenhan shook his head, "I did not, but I know people who did and I'm sure there are books to be found on the subject."

"We'll all pitch in on the research while you're taking care of the practical side of things. I'm sure Valjean would understand." Combeferre added.

Grantaire squinted at him. “Understand what?”

“Classes start tomorrow. Tonight the students arrive.”

"Oh, right, that’s really terrible timing but thank you." Extra researchers would make his job substantially easier. "Another question that I probably already know the answer to, but is there any point in attempting legilimency to find out what happened?"

Courfeyrac shook his head, "No, he's too good for that."

"That's what I thought."

"Are they treating him alright?" asked the blond woman. He must have given her an odd look because she quickly introduced herself. "I'm Cossette, by the way, Marius' wife. I've heard stories, it's good to finally meet you. I wish the circumstances were better."

Grantaire felt like he'd been slapped in the face. "You're Marius' wife?" he asked with a start. "When did that happen?"

It was startling on two parts. First that he had somehow missed the wedding of one of his school friends and second, he should have guessed this was Cossette. She was the headmaster's daughter and muggle studies professor. She was overly qualified to teach that subject as a muggle herself, or rather a squib. Her employment had been an outrage in the wizarding community. When she had taken up the position Grantaire had been on a case for a particularly prejudiced pureblood family and was forced to listen to an unfiltered stream of consciousness from strongly muggle opposed man who had been cursed to say whatever was on his mind. It had been very, very difficult fighting the urge to leave him as he was. By the time he had undone the curse, the man was in terrible standing with his family, which Grantaire thought served him right.

"A year after I started working at hogwarts." Marius said awkwardly. "I tried to send you an invitation, but I guess it didn't reach you."

"No, I would have been..." He would have been on a self-destructive journey in the south. "Well, I didn't miss it on purpose. And I'm sorry that I did miss it. I’m sure I missed many things…” He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t seem to find the words and the work took precedent. “Ah, anyway. I should probably get back to... I’ll let you know when I have more information.”

“Good luck,” Combeferre said, “We know he’s in good hands.”

Grantaire nodded and ducked out of the room.

When he reentered Enjolars’ room the veela was straining against his bindings.

“Stop that,” Grantaire warned, drawing his wand, “You’ll set off the alarms again.”

“How does he keep breaking through?” Magnon asked at his side, “I’ve never seen a patent manage that.”

“I think it has something to do with the botched nature of the curse. Something is allowing him to slip through the charms.”

Grantaire then proceeded to run a series of scans in respect to Enjorlas’ altered speech. There seemed to be a number of spells interfering with information processing and verbal response. He spent a good hour hunched over and working through the layers as Enjolras shifted about uncomfortably.

"I've fucking got it." Grantaire announced with a flourish of his wand. "Can you understand me?"

Enjolras blinked in shock. “Yes.” His brow furrowed at the sound of a human voice. "What's going on?"

"I've finally got you speaking English. What do you remember?"

Enjolras opened his mouth but then seemed to reconsidered his words. “Why should I answer to you? You stunned me while my back was turned.”

“I promise you, I would have rather watched you fling fireballs at that Auror.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Because I had to, and I’m sorry that I did. I only want to help you.”

Enjolras gave him an uncomfortably searching look, the wizard shifted his mental guards to be sure that the blond was not using legilimency on him. Still, he felt the presence of something at the periphery of his awareness.

“Fine,” the veela said with a note of finality.

“Fine?”

“I forgive your betrayal, you do not wish ill toward me.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I trust my instincts.”

“Okay… Then what do you remember?”

"Nothing beyond the last day or so."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"At which point? It seems a lot has happened."

"Everything you do remember."

"I woke up in my cave, bound and in pain. I managed to struggle free of some of the magic when some pathetic wizard appeared and tried to abduct me. He obviously did not anticipate my putting up a fight and so I tore him apart-" he opened his mouth to say more but Grantaire interjected.

"Any idea who he was?"

"No, my form was shifting and my vision was blurry. I don't know how he got in, but it wasn’t through the entrance. He just appeared out of nowhere."

"What happened next?"

"Well, after he was dead I tried to eat him, but trying to ingest anything made me gag. So, I was left sitting there, aching and without anything to do. I made a makeshift nest and I slept what little I could while my skin was still shifting, and then you showed up," he quirked a smile at Grantaire, "And did away with my pain. That was lovely by the way. You are very useful."

Grantaire gave a shocked laugh, "Never in a million years did I think I’d hear those words from your mouth." Both on the part of the praise and the eating people.

"And why not?"

"You always seemed to consider me pointless."

"I question that assessment. But you must know me then. What am I called? What are you called?” he asked the questions as if they had only just occurred to him.

"I am Grantaire, you are Enjolras. And I used to know you. We were in the same friend group at school." He wasn't sure Enjolras ever really considered him a friend and saying so would feel like a lie, besides he’d been friends with everyone else before he was on speaking terms with Enjolras.

Enjolras frowned. "What school was this?"

"Hogwarts. Do you know what that is?"

"I know it is a wizardry school."

"I'll get a mediwizard in to test your memory." Grantaire stood to leave. "For now, I must leave you."

"You're not going to stay with me?" The veela looked to him imploringly.

The wizard shook his head. "I'm not in a fit state to continue helping you."

"That's not what I meant."

Grantaire was puzzled. "Then what did you mean?"

"Stay here to rest,” he said as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

"Why?"

"Because I want you to."

" _Why_?"

"You’re the one charged with my care, I’d like to keep you in my sights. I do not trust these other wizards, they are afraid of me."

"That is a very Slytherin sentiment, but I do have to go."

"Can you at least let me up?"

"No, as long as you remain in this ward you have to be bound."

"Please," his speech was laced with charm and Grantaire stepped forward, but Magnon, who he had nearly forgotten about, grabbed the back of his shirt. Startling him out of his daze.

"I'm sorry,” Grantaire said, “I would let you up if I could." Despite the fact that it was an atrocious idea.

"Stay."

"I'll stay for the memory analysis," he sighed, the potion probably wasn’t ready yet anyhow.

A mediwizard was called in via note to administer the test. Grantaire remained in the room, though his mind was racing ahead, trying to mentally disassemble the curse. Though Enjolras did cooperate in answering the questions asked of him, his eyes remained drawn upon Grantaire. The questions asked were laced with a magic that detected the breath of an individual’s knowledge on the topic asked of them, it was not a long examination, taking only around twenty minutes to complete.

"What's the verdict?" Grantaire asked as the mediwizard packed up her papers. She gave him a strange look. “Apologies, I was not paying attention.”

"He remembers basic everyday objects and tasks and has an encyclopedic knowledge of historic events as well as veela lore, which he refused to answer questions about,” her tone shifted into annoyance, but no personal history."

"Any idea what sort of spell it is?"

She shook her head. "The personal memories aren't blocked, it's like they aren’t there at all, like they were removed completely. I've never seen a memory removal so complex that is so cleanly done. I wouldn't know where to start bringing them back."

"Comforting, thank you."

As the mediwizard exited, Enjolras was considering the curse-breaker carefully. "What sort of person was I before this?"

"You were, and presumably are, strong willed, passionate, ambitious and a little terrifying. Rumor has it, you tried to overthrow the ministry of magic."

"I like the sound of that, but when would I have had time for such an effort?"

"During the war. Everything was chaos."

“To what end?”

“The break down of the statute of secrecy.”

“I suppose that makes sense, wizards and muggles may be able help one another if they worked together. It seems strange to keep them separate,” he said with interest, "And I imagine I would need a small army to accomplish such a feat."

"A gang of noble school friends and enough charisma to move the crowds."

He smiled. He had smiled more in the past hour than Grantaire could ever remember him smiling in months at school. "Were you there by my side?" he asked softly.

Grantaire gave a derisive laugh. "I was in the beginning, but I was working for the ministry at the time, so I was... strongly encouraged to leave."

"You chose the ministry over me?"

"I believe you would have said I chose the ministry over the cause. You’ve always hated the idea that people followed you for your sake and not for belief in the motivation of the cause. But alas I had a job to do. If I could have stayed I would have."

“Like you would have rather watched me battle that Auror?”

“ _Exactly_ like that.”

"I see…” he frowned, “Was I upset with you for leaving?"

"You were upset I wasn't spying. And you were upset at my cynicism. But you were probably glad that I left."

The blond made a displeased sound, "Then I have no sense."

"Such kind words and I've done so little to earn them," Grantaire scoffed.

"You deserve kind words, I can feel it."

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

Enjolras was staring at him so intently that he had to look away. "Well regardless, the past does not presently matter. I'm going to bring your memory back and then you can tell me how glad you felt about my leaving."

"And once my memory is restored you’ll be done with me, will you?"

"Once I restore your body and mind I'll have to take another case."

"You work too hard." His eyes were glittering with charm.

"That is life." His life at least.

"Have you even slept since I saw you last?"

"I will sleep after I leave here, you’ve delayed me in doing so."

"Sleep _here_.” He insisted yet again, “I'm sure I could make room."

He laughed. "I don’t think so." Stepping back as Enjolras made the conscious effort to compel him closer.

"Why are you doing that?" the creature frowned at him.

"What?"

"Resisting me."

"Some people don't like the loss of control."

"You had no control to begin with, it's something more than that."

"I just… don’t think you'd be comfortable with this… whatever you’re doing if you remembered me. I don’t want you to do anything you'll regret."

This appeared to annoy the veela. "Well, _I_ don’t care what I regret later."

“As you said, you have no sense. I will return as soon as I am able, be kind to the staff. None of this is their fault."

"Dream sweetly, Grantaire."

* * *

Grantaire returned to healer Simplice's empty office. The chair he had been sitting in before had been transfigured into a small cot, which he fell back into. Wasting not a moment, he drew an endless bag from his pocket and reached in to retrieve a book from his bag on memory related curses.

The Healer walked in ten minutes later, two frothing goblets in her hands.

"Ah, perfect, I have your potions for you," she greeted him.

"Thank you." Grantaire sat up, setting the book aside.

"Now I insist that you get at least eight hours."

"You know I can’t do that. They'll have him out by then."

"Six hours and I'll wake you if there are any problems. I’ll have mediwizard Magnon spy for me."

He wanted to argue but lacked the energy. "Very well." He took the goblet she handed to him, waving his wand over it twice then downing it in one go. As he felt the thick liquid move down his throat he felt the pain in his body ease away to nothing. He shuddered in relief. The second goblet he drank slowly, his eyes growing heavier with every mouthful.

He was only half aware when the goblet was removed from his hands, the Healer brushing the hair back from his forehead as she told him to sleep well.

And he slept like the dead, dreaming of nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, this chapter is a bit lame bc I cut it short. This just keeps getting longer and longer. Also, the mediwizard is one of the spare Thenardier boys that was unnamed and I think Magnon was either their adopted mother's first or last name? This despite the fact that in this story Gavroche is still in school.... anyway....
> 
> I’m very tired. 
> 
> Thanks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In terms of progress, R takes a tiny step forward and is shoved two steps back.

When Grantaire was nudged awake by mediwizard Magnon, the sleep potion was still heavy in his blood, clogging his thoughts with absent mush.

“There’s a Hogwarts professor here to speak with you,” he said as Grantaire regained his bearings.

“Any idea which one it is?”

“Professor Prourvaire.”

Jehan must have been assigned the task of delivering all Enjolras related information, this thought was followed by a rush of panic as he considered all the time he had lost while sleeping. “Lead the way.” Grantaire lifted himself to his feet, his head swimming in protest.  

Jehan was pacing when they found him, a stack of books clutched tight to his chest.

"R,” he said in a rush, “I found a lot of information, not all of it is directly relevant, but I thought it was probably best to give you everything. Specifically, there are some separation spells that were used on werewolves in an attempt at separating the wizard from the wolf, to grotesque results as I’m sure you can guess. I'm not sure how something like that would work on a half-veela, but I thought it was worth throwing in.” He handed over the books, which Grantaire graciously accepted.

“Thank you, you’ve saved me a callosal amount of time.” He could run an information processing spell to help digest it all, but that would have to wait. “How are things looking on the legal end of things?” The professor shook his head. “They shouldn’t have any reason to keep him, but I’m sure they’re searching for some justification. The headmaster has been trying to gain the minister’s attention but has not been successful.” The minister would not stand for such blatant injustice, which was obviously why they were bothering to find a reason to lock him away. And all this presumably for the sake of maintaining the peace; nobody wanted another war and Enjolras was a known threat to the temporary balance of power.

“Hopefully, I can get things figured out before they find something.”

"Indeed…” Jehan sighed, his expression turning thoughtful, “I’m sure you’ll pull him through this. I know the circumstances aren't great, but I'm glad to see you again."

"Yeah, it’s been good to see everyone… I didn’t mean to be gone for so long."

"Then why were you?"

"I was busy."

Jehan gave him an incredulous look. "You’ve been so busy that you couldn't have even sent an owl? That is a fanatic level of work ethic, I always thought that after the war was over you would quit curse-breaking."

His friends had all been perplexed by his decision to go into the family trade. Due to… familial obligations, his intention had always been to become qualified and work for some time before leaving the program, not that he told anyone. He had always answered nebulously when asked what he wanted to be, he really hadn’t wanted to think about it, already knowing where he would end up. It wasn’t until he had received his acceptance letter into the ministry curse-breaking program in March of their final year that everyone else had found out.

He was sitting in the great hall, half asleep at the Ravenclaw table when an owl dropped an official ministry sealed letter into his breakfast. With a sense of mounting dread, Grantaire had opened the letter and began to read.

“What’s that you have, R?” asked Joly over a bowl full of oatmeal.

“Nothing of any importance.” Grantaire attempted to stuff the letter into his robes but it instead flew from his hand into Courfeyrac’s, who sat himself across the table, beside Combeferre.

“Getting love letters from ministry employees, are we, R?”

“Mail theft is a crime, Courf.”

“So is keeping secrets.” He had already begun reading over the letter, his face transforming with shock. “What the hell? Why didn’t you tell us you were applying to be a curse breaker?”

Grantaire snatched back the letter. “I wasn’t sure I would get in,” he lied. His grades were fine and his family history spoke for itself, there was no question that he would be accepted.

“Okay, whenever anyone brings up curse-breaking you go off on how horribly depressing it is. Don’t you have like four disfigured curse-breaker aunts or something?”

“Three aunts and two uncles,” he corrected.

“Were you even going to tell us?” Joly asked, clearly upset, “Why would you want to go into a field you know is so dangerous?”

“I’m sure it would have come up eventually. I just didn’t know what I wanted to do and following the family tradition seemed the obvious choice.” It was the only choice, that is to say he had no choice.

“Who are you and what have you done with Grantaire?” Courfeyrac gaped at him.

“What’s wrong with Grantaire?” asked Enjolras, taking a seat on the other side of Combeferre.

“Far too many things to list, dear leader,” Grantaire sighed.

Enjolras did not even bother to roll his eyes, looking instead to Courfeyrac.

“R was accepted into the ministry curse-breaking program, he wants to carry on the family tradition,” the Hufflepuff said cautiously, clearly worried over how Enjolras would take this news.

“Well, I would encourage that, I am sure there are many areas of ministry work that could use some exposure,” Enjolras said approvingly, obviously under the false assumption that Courfeyrac was speaking of his Grandmother on his father’s side who had exposed the then minister and his Aurors of rampant corruption. Her testimony had triggered a series of riots which had ended in a complete restructuring of the Auror department, not that it seemed to have done any good. Her kin had not taken this action lightly, she was disowned and her actions had sent paranoid ripples through the family, only strengthening ministry ties.

“Other family tradition.” Grantaire mumbled.

“You mean becoming a soulless ministry lacky?” The Grantaire family was filled with curse-breakers and ministry fanatics.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Enjolras gave him a befuddled look. “ _Why_?”

“Why not?”

“You know full well why not,” the Slytherin’s voice rose into a harsh whisper, “At least tell me that if you are going to go through with this you will be funneling information to us about the ministry.” Feuilly and Jehan were both going into ministry work for the express purpose of information delivery.

“I won’t be a spy.” Grantaire found himself saying.

Everyone was staring at him like he’d lost his mind, Enjolras looked like his brain was about to explode. “You do realize that you have just allied yourself with the enemy?”

“Yes.” For a moment he thought the half-veela might climb over the table and start shaking him but he did not, he merely continued to gape.

“I refuse to accept that.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you accept if or not, it’s what I’m doing.” He struggled to keep his voice steady, heart aching as his words filled with venom that should not have been directed at Enjolras.

Enjolras rose to his feet, looking as if he wanted to stand up on the table and start ranting, which he probably did, but his movement had caught the attention of a teacher.

“Is there a problem here, Mister Enjolras?” asked professor Listolier.

“No, sir.” Enjolras answered stiffly though he did not move from his stance.

“I am glad to hear that, but I am going to suggest you all return to your respective tables,” he eyed the group of students sternly.

“Fine.” Enjolras said with shocking bluntness as he moved from the table, the other non-Ravenclaws following suit.

Once they had gone Grantaire left breakfast early, he couldn’t eat with the feeling Enjolras’ glare drilling into him from across the hall. He had known this split was absolutely inevitable since their fourth year and yet he had done nothing to withdraw before it became an issue.

Presently, Grantaire gave his old friend a half-hearted grin. “Unfortunately, I’ve found that I’m very good at what I do. Speaking of which, I’ve got to go check on my patient.”

“How is he?”

“He’s speaking English now, and he’s not happy to be stuck here, but last I saw him he was physically fine. I think I'll run through some tests on him then go back to the castle."

"What for?"

"I can test things on his room that I can’t on his person. If I can pick apart the unfamiliar magic I might be able to figure out exactly what sort of curse they used."

"I'll let Valjean know your intentions so that you can travel there by floo."

“Thank you.” Grantaire turned to leave but Jehan stopped him short.

“I know he doesn’t remember us but tell him we’re all thinking of him.” “I will.”

“Good luck.”

* * *

Enjolras was asleep when Grantaire entered the room. He had vanished his wings, but still retained his angelic disposition. He carefully shook the veela awake.

Enjolras gazed blearily up at him, attempting to stretch against his restraints. “Hello again.”

“I need to ask you a few questions.”

“I will do my best to answer them.”

“You said you woke up in your cave?”

“Yes.”

“Then you did not construct the link between realms through the den entrance?”

“No, assuming I was human before this, I must have entered the room and begun the transformation, creating the link in the process.”

“Half-human,” Grantaire corrected.

This appeared to surprise the blond. “On which side?”

“Your mother’s.”

“And did she stay with my father?”

“No, but I don’t think you held it against her, you and your father do not get along.” Enjolras’ birth had actually been a bit of a scandal at the time. His father had been seduced by a veela woman who had returned only to hand over a half-veela baby and then fucked off back to where ever she had come from. The head of a noble pureblood family, the half human baby had been seen as a blight on the family tree, a sentiment that only grew as Enjolras’ opinions began to form. When he had been finally kicked out, his father had implored him to stop using the family name altogether, which he had taken as evidence that he should use it as much as he could, attempting to make change while not hiding where he came from.

Enjolras snorted, “A half-veela bastard, I suppose that made the transition easier.”

“Can you tell me a little bit about how the den would be constructed. Would it be through your magic?”

Enjolras spoke carefully. “I am unsure how the process would work if I were still half human, it may be a combination of veela and wizard magic, and there may be other magic involved if the process were forced, but I cannot give you the specifics.”

“Right, I am going to ask you to use a little magic so that I can get a better idea of what it feels like now compared to what it was. That way I can separate any outside forces.” If he was going to attempt to separate the different types of magic he would need a more in-depth view of how Enjolras magic currently functioned.

“Alright, what should I do?”

“Well, I would ask you to conjure some flames, but I worry that might send the staff running in here, so I’d like you to use your allure.”

“In what way?”

“On me, preferably so that I can focus on the feeling, just please don’t make me do anything that will get either of us in trouble.”

“Alright, I’ll just ask you a question then,” he considered is words for a moment, “Tell me why you do this job when it takes so much out of you?” His words were laced with magic and Grantiare found himself answering before he had time to process what was happening.

“I have to.” He focused on the wildness of Enjorlas’ magic, committing it to memory. It felt different than what he remembered on his first analysis of the room, more stable, more intoxicating.

“That is not an answer,” the veela frowned.

“It is the only one I can give.” It was immensely difficult to focus on the magic while being overwhelmed by the will of another, his brain was being pulled in two opposing directions.

“Do you not enjoy it?”

“I fucking hate it,” Grantaire spat, momentarily losing his concentration in favor of focusing on the question, “This job has lost me literally everything. If I could quit, I would. But for now, I am just glad to be out of the pocket of the ministry.”

“Can’t you just stop?”

He laughed a bit too loudly at the irony of that question. “No.” He opened his mouth to say more but found that he could not find the words.

“Why not?”

“I can’t.”

“Why can’t you tell me?”

Grantaire opened and closed his mouth, wordlessly. “I just can’t.” He gathered his resolved and wrenched himself free of the allure, physically stumbling back with the effort. He had the feeling that he only managed to escape because the veela allowed it. “Right, that should be enough,” he said in a rush, “I will return as soon as I have something.”

“Grantaire, wait,” Enjolras said softly, the commanding tone absent, “What would I have said about your profession before this?”

“While I was working for the ministry you would have said I was a coward and a traitor for standing with them. Now you would say that at least I was being useful, which is more than could have been said before.”

“You don’t seem to think very much of me.”

“I think the world of you.”

“How can that be so?”

Grantaire shook his head. “Hell if I know. But I really do have to go.”

“You’re going to abandon me to these miserable people? What if they attempt to drag me off?”

Grntaire cast a simple alert spell over the veela. “There, if your wards are disturbed I will know and I will be there in an instant, so please behave in the meantime.”

“I will if they will.”

“I suppose that is only fair.” He stopped near the door, “Your friends wanted me to let you know they are thinking of you.”

“My loyal gang of school friends?”

“The very same.”

“Tell them I would be thinking of them too, if I could remember. For now, I look forward to meeting them.”

Soon enough Grantaire was gracelessly sliding out of the headmaster's fireplace. The office had changed much between headmasters. He had a few times been tasked with delivering things from teachers to the Javert, under his rule the room had been very much an office while under Valjean it was minimalist but welcoming, with more rows of books and fewer sneakascopes. The room was currently empty, so the curse-breaker walked straight to the history of magic room. A few Students wandered the halls, but the vast majority appeared to be attending class. More so than before it reminded him of the start of school.

School for him had always seemed to begin with Bahorel raving on about quidditch on the train. Eponine found it agonizing to listen to, but Grantaire did not mind the sport. In their fourth year, the Gryffindor had convinced him to try out as seeker for the Ravenclaw team after their previous seeker had graduated.

The Ravenclaw team had never been very good and Bahorel knew from sneaking off to fly with him after curfew that Grantaire was a fair seeker when he tried, he wanted to give the poor Ravenclaws a fighting chance. Grantaire had gone on to play seeker for the remainder of his Hogwarts years, not that his team had improved any. Still, he enjoyed the Ravenclaw losing parties far too much to quit, on top of the Gryffindor success parties for Bahorel and the Hufflepuff parties for Courfeyrac, which could go either way in terms of success. Usually these parties would entail Les Amis getting drunk and rowdy in the room of requirement, though the last one had ended with he and Enjorlas getting into a physical fight.

Grantaire had been in a bitter mood after having received his father’s congratulations on his acceptance into the curse-breaking program, as if it had been a shock that he had followed his assigned path. He’d been seven years old when they had decided his fate for him. Seven fucking years old. Nobody used binding spells like that anymore, they were highly illegal, but there he was and he couldn’t even say anything about it.

Still, the party carried on without him as he slowly drank himself blurry. He didn’t even remember at what point Enjolras had approached him but he did remember punching him in the gut and shouting in his face. He didn’t remember why it had happened, but Courfeyrac had said after the fact that the Slytherin had more than deserved it, so he was almost grateful he didn’t have any memory of what was said.

Upon reaching the history of magic room, Grantaire set about analyzing the fabric of the magic inside the room. For the most part, it felt like human magic, slightly warped with the wildness of veela magic, but there was a sliver of something more at its root, something that he hadn’t been able to pick out the last time. He attempted to see past the bulk to that extra little bit, but it was nearly too small and elusive to grasp. Frustrated and throwing caution to the wind, he opened the door into the veela den, entering the other realm and ascending the cliff where he ventured into the cave. The body had been cleared away, but the blood remained.

If he concentrated he could feel that the cave was echoing with the remnants of Enjolras transformation, the magic had not yet dissipated. Placing a hand to the blood, he could feel that same twinge he had felt below the rest of the magic. Whoever had been kill was most definitely the caster. Perhaps if he entered the chamber as the actual room he could get an altered view of things. He exited, fiddled a bit with the charms and reentered the room as a classroom. The underlying magic was stronger, but he stopped short when he attempted to feel out the magic. There was something there, a presence. He stepped back, startled, eyes scanning for an entity which was apparently not there. Reaching out again, there was nothing. A feeling of deep unease crept over him. Calmly as he could manage, he exited the room.  

Just as he was passing through the doorway he felt as though a wave of cold dread had passed through him, for a moment he wondered if he had walked through a ghost but as the feeling passed there was again a brush of _something_ and the door behind him slammed shut, locking itself. He stared at the old wooden door for a long time, perplexed.

"Grantaire?"

The curse-breaker turned his head to see a lone Gryffindor student. "Gavroche?" For a moment Grantaire hadn’t recognized the boy, he had been only around seven when he had last seen him trailing along after Eponine. It was even more shocking that the boy had recognized him, though perhaps it was more the fact that he was standing in front of a likely restricted classroom and his sister had insider information on the situation. “Why aren’t you in class?”

"I am expanding my mind outside the confines of a classroom,” the blond proclaimed easily, “I heard you were investigating whatever happened to professor Enjolras.”

“Yes.”

 “Well, when you get any extra time you should look into whatever is haunting the defense against the dark arts room."

"I don’t deal with ghosts," he said, though the encounter he’d just had made him wonder if he should investigate regardless.

"I don’t think it's a ghost,” Gavroche insisted, “People say it’s the lingering spirit of professor Mabeuf. I don’t know what the difference is between a spirit and a ghost, but whatever it is it makes my skin crawl. Can you at least look at it?"

Well, he couldn’t say no to an appeal for a curse-breaker this seemed like another one of those well-timed accidents he so often stumbled into. "Very well, but you should get to class or I shall report you."

“There is nothing to report,” the Gryffindor said lightly, “because there was nothing to see.”

Grantaire did not bother to watch the boy run along, he had precious little time to run about on tangents.

When he approached the defense against the dark arts room the door was open, Courfeyrac appeared to be substituting for the moment. He was gesturing to a chalk diagram of an acromantula. When he saw Grantaire lingering in the doorway he called him forward.

"Grantaire, what can I do for you? Class, here is a man far more qualified to teach this lesson than I. How fairs professor Enjolras?"

Grantaire approached the front of the room, it appeared to be a class of relatively young students. "He can at least speak now, though his memory is still gone. He wanted everyone to know that he would be thinking of them if he could.”

“Is professor Enjolras going to be okay?” asked a small Hufflepuff girl who blushed when he turned to her. Grantaire supposed that Enjolras as a teacher must be the object of many teen fantasies, the thought nearly made him laugh.

“He will be, not that he isn’t now,” he assured her, “I’ve seen him smile more in the last day than I did all of our final year in school.”

A Ravenclaw boy in the back snorted, “What was he like in school?”

“Angry and argumentative, but maybe that was just my influence, he didn’t like me much.”

“He didn’t dislike you,” Courfeyrac scoffed, “You just got under his skin.”

“Same difference.”

“R, I knocked him off a broom once because he was so preoccupied in trying to find a way to convince you not to become a ministry curse-breaker that he didn’t see a quaffle flying at his head. He wouldn’t have spent the mental energy if he didn’t like you.”

“Why were you throwing quaffles at him?”

 “I was using his erratic flying for target practice.” Enjolras did not do well when it came to flying, his mind was too distracted by other things to control his broom. It would have been amusing to watch if Grantaire wasn’t so worried he would fall every time he left the ground.

“And you couldn’t have just summoned a moving target?”

“It’s more fun with a living target, especially an irritating one.”

“Children, your teacher is a nutter,” Grantaire informed the class, “But alas there is nothing I can do to fix that, and that is not why I am here. I was told some strange spirit lingers in this room.”

Courfeyrac was puzzled. “I've heard nothing of this, has anyone here noticed anything strange?" he questioned the class.

"It could be anything from moving objects to lingering feelings,” Grantaire said encouragingly, “Raise your hands if you’ve experienced anything like that in this room."

A fair number of hands rose. He called upon on a determined looking Slytherin girl. “What can you tell me?”

“It started after the professor left. It’s this really odd feeling, like walking through a ghost but ghosts are cold when you walk through them. It’s really creepy.” She shivered thinking about it.

“Has anyone else felt this?”

Nearly half the class raised their hands.

“I saw a book fly across the room in here once.” A Gryffindor boy added and suddenly the class was chattering with speculation, not all of it, Grantaire imagined was probably very accurate. “Alright, alright.” Grantaire called back their attention, “So, it seems there is something here. How about I try to find it? If that’s alright with the professor, of course.” He looked to Courfeyrac who gave a broad wave of his hand. “Go right ahead, I might even learn something,” he said, taking a seat at an empty desk.

As Grantaire reached out with his magic, he detected nothing, which was terribly anticlimactic until he shifted his reach more toward detection of the magical than the ghostly. "Ah there is something." He tugged and the atmosphere in the room dropped, setting Grantaire’s hair on end and provoking a few gasps from the students. This was less like unease and more like panic, but it was there for only a moment before slipping away. "I had it for a second. Can anyone tell me what Mabeuf was like before his coma?"

"Normal," Courfeyrac said, unnerved by what had just occurred. “Nobody saw it coming.”

“Just like Enjorlas then.” “You think this is connected?”

“It’s hard to say… But I suppose I should be getting back, I’ve taken up enough of your time and the ministry is breathing down my neck. It was good to meet all of you,” he told the class, “I will try to get your professor back to you in one piece, although I imagine he is the sort to give mountains of assignments, so maybe you’d rather I didn’t.”

“Thank you, Grantaire, I’m sure-“ Courfeyrac was cut off when a sharp whistle cut through the air. The wards on Enjolras’ bed had been disturbed.

"Shit- ah sorry I’ve got to go." Grantaire sprinted from the classroom.

* * *

When he ran into the room Magnon was holding back Bamatabois who was clutching his face and shrieking, the air smelled of burned flesh. Enjolras had managed to get one arm free of his restraints, which must have set off Grantaire’s spell, and was gathering another fireball. Two mediwizards were attempting to calm the blond, their wands trained on the veela as he made disjointed sounds that made Grantaire’s ears ring, arm raised in a threat.

"What the hell is going on?" Grantaire rushed forward, pushing the mediwizards aside and moving recklessly toward the bed.

Enjolras moved his hand as though he wanted to throw the fireball at the burned man at the far end of the room, but Grantiare stood in his line of sight.

"Get him out of here!" he shouted to the small crowed behind him, not turning to see if they obeyed his order, his gaze was fixed on the furious creature before him. "What happened?" he demanded.

"He was touching me," Enjolras seethed.

“What do you mean?”

“He came in while the others were gone, trying to steal some of my hair.” Veela hair was a rare commodity, it would fetch a fair price in the right market. It was not shocking that something like this would happen. He had seen more than one Auror pocket rare magical components while out on cases.

"Well, you've certainly made him pay for it."

"Not enough." Enjolras attempted to lean to the side for a better view around the wizard, who stepped back into his way.

"Listen, I know you don't want to hear this, but you've only given them another excuse to lock you up."

"They cannot hold me.” He lit the flame in his hand as proof, the heat warming Grantaire’s skin. “This is all pointless, you should just let me out.”

The curse-breaker shook his head. “You know I can’t do that.”

“You could,” Enjolras insisted an intense look appearing in his face as he looked from the doorway back to the wizard.

Grantaire opened his mouth to argue, hastily glancing over his shoulder, upon seeing the empty room he lost his train of thought. The mediwizards had gone with the wounded Auror. They were alone, that was not good, he needed to leave immediately.

"Grantaire, look at me," Enjolras’ voice was smooth as silk and echoed with the command. Grantaire resisted for as long as he was able, which was only a breath of a second, but, Enjolras looked hardly human, charm flowing from him like a tangible aura. He tipped his head up in a compelling motion. "Come here."

And Grantaire found himself stepping forward, not stopping as his legs pressed against the bedside, leaning over the veela, arms bracing either side of him, leaning into his personal space until they were nearly sharing the same air.

Enjolras gave a pleasant hum, arching up to press their foreheads together, nuzzling him like a cat. Grantaire pressed him back to the bed and he made a small bell like sound in the back of his throat, tilting his face so that when he spoke Grantaire could just feel the brush of his moving lips against his mouth. "Isn't this nice?" he sighed. "Just you and me."

Grantaire couldn't find the will to speak.

"I want you to let me out of here," he said in a hushed whisper, breath hot against Grantaire’s skin.

Again, Grantaire remained silent. 

Enjolras moved forward a breath, taking Grantaire's bottom lip between his and biting at it softly, razor sharp teeth so very careful as he lingered. When he pulled back it took everything within Grantaire not to follow his retreat.

"You're still resisting," Enjolras all but whined.

"You’re still pushing," Grantaire managed, his brain foggy.

"I wouldn't push if I didn't know how badly you wanted to give in. Why hold back when you want this so desperately?" he huffed in frustration, again he rested their foreheads together, his free hand coming to rest on the wizard’s cheek, heat radiating into the skin.

"I don't want this."

"Liar. I can feel your intent. Why are you doing this?"

"Because if you knew me like you did before you wouldn't want it. I’m asking you to stop for your own sake."

"I already told you, I don't care what I'll regret.”

"Then stop for my sake, it’s only going be more painful when you remember how much you hate me,” his voice had gone horse, “And, Merlin, if you really do still hate me after all this time then, fuck, I don't even know what I'll do. This is all your fucking fault and I can’t even…"

“What’s my fault?” Enjolras shifted back to look at him properly, worry lining his perfect face.

“Nothing… Everything. Look, it doesn’t matter. The point is that this shouldn’t happen.”

"How can you think I would hate you so badly?” There was hurt in his tone that triggered an irrational stab of anger from the curse-breaker. “What makes you so certain?"

"You made how you feel about me pretty fucking clear last we spoke."

"Show me."

"Fine," he said, feeling a vindictive twist in his gut as he reached out for the veela's face and pulled Enjolras into his memories.

* * *

He was standing in the middle of the Musain and his heart was in pieces, throbbing with the ever-present ache in his tired body.

"If you don't have any useful information, I want you out." Enjolras was raging, eyes alight in a manic sort of fury.

"What, you're really just going to throw me out like that?" Grantaire shouted back. He had known it was a bad choice to come, but he could not stay away. He’d told himself this was the last time. Just one last time. In the past week he had nearly died twice and there had been an explosion in the ministry’s law office when Enjolras was supposed to have been on duty. He just wanted something to hold onto, in case someone didn’t make it.

"Yes."

He was being hauled out of building by the collar of his shirt, Enjolras shoving him so hard through the doorway that he stumbled and fell, landing in a freezing puddle, his weight breaking the thin sheet of ice at the surface. The cold was shocking as it seeped through his robes, but the sensation was distant.

Enjolras stared him down with a sneer, unsympathetic. "If you're so devoted to your job then go fucking do it. I don't have patients for complacency and your presence is a liability."

"Enjolras-" he tried desperately.

"No, you had your chance. Go."

"But-"

"Shut the fuck up, I said _go_. Don't bother returning." He cast a wordless spell, hitting Grantaire in the chest so hard he gasped and suddenly he was on his feet as they guided him away. The look of disgust on Enjolras' lovely face burned in his memory as he turned, disapparating back into the war zone.

* * *

Only seconds passed as the memory was shared between them. When Grantaire pulled their minds back, Enjolras was kissing him. Hot and overwhelming as if trying to make up for the cold cruelty he had just witnessed at his own hand.

"I was terrible to you,” he managed to gasp.

"Which. Is. Exactly. Exactly- Why this should happen,” Grantaire bit out, “You hate me."

"I don't. You're wonderful. Forget who I was before. I’d burn anyone who dared cause you harm. Let me out and I'll show you." His pupils were blown wide and his expression was wild, he looked somehow possessed.

"I'm not going to- Fuck- " he couldn’t think he needed a distraction. He reached for something, anything. Information. His job. The case. "Will you show me what you remember about turning?" he asked desperately.

“Anything.” Enjolras allowed the wizard into his mind. The memory was not as clear cut as the one Grantaire had shared. Surface sensation passed between them but it was like experiencing the past and the present in one moment.

There was pain and change and the pressure of a light and prickly magic. A blurred image of a man and then the taste of blood and burned flesh as presently Enjolras continued to move his lips against Grantaire's, desperately grasping the front of his robes like a lifeline. Grantaire’s blood was boiling and his stomach felt sick with the disorienting mix of pleasure and violence.

Abruptly, he was being hauled back. Enjolras was screeching, breaking his magical bonds and sitting bolt upright, grasping for Grantaire, But Healer Gillenormand had him by arm. He was out the chamber before he could understand what was happening, the door slamming shut behind them. The healer did not stop until they were outside of the ward, Grantaire stumbling along beside her, his legs shaky and his mind reeling.

She pulled him to a rough stop once they reached the hall past the security spells. "If you couldn’t restrain yourself around the patient, you shouldn’t have taken the case. I told you-"

"You can't blame me for this,” he panted, “He-"

She jabbed a finger at him. "You knew you weren't supposed to be alone with him."

"Yes, but-"

"But nothing. I'm unassigning you."

Panic broke through the confusion. "You can't fucking do that! Look, I'm sorry-"

Healer Gillenormand held herself to her full height, which was not any taller than Grantaire. "I was trusted with this case by the head Auror himself, so on authority of the ministry, I'm telling you to get out."

Grantaire wanted to hex her, or scream, or both. “If that is the will of the ministry, I will of course step aside.” The fury was palpable in his speech as his head swam with rage. He attempted to walk away, chest pounding with panic as he searched for a way around his unassignment.

“Not so fast.” She grabbed his arm, jabbing him with her wand, removing his security permissions.

He jerked out of her hold but the damage was done, he spared her a hateful look as he moved away.

“I don’t want to see you back here.” She called after him.

He clenched his jaw to keep from shouting back, there were more important things to think about.

He marched directly to Healer Simplice’s office where the Healer was sitting at her desk, examining a stack of files.

"I’ve been officially removed from the case." Grantaire informed her.

Her eyes widened. “By the staff or by the patient?”

“The staff.”

"Oh dear." She was possibly the only person who understood the depth of that particular issue.

"Obviously, I am going to continue investigating, I need you to tell me if they try to take him away while I figure out how to undo this." He hated how demanding his tone had become, but his brain was throbbing with the compulsive urge to go go go, get this case over with. He _had_ to see it through to the end.

"I'll have Magnon alert you if they come for him,” the Healer said patiently.

"Thank you,” he said stiffly, turning to leave.

“Where are you going?” she asked after him

“I have to ask a friend about an old classmate.”

“Please, be careful.”

He did not reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t look too closely at the timeline for all these events because im sure it doesn’t make sense.
> 
> The lines of consent get a little blurry in there and I don’t know what to say about it that doesn’t give the game away.
> 
> This was not where I wanted this chapter to end but it was getting to be too long. I think there should be 2 or 3 chapters left? Maybe? I feel like you can see my patience with it deteriorating, but hopefully it's not too awful.
> 
> Thanks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R goes all out to get the curse resolved and E gets his mind back… mostly.

As Grantaire stormed through the halls of St Mungos he knew his time was limited. With Bamatabois injured, the ministry was likely already preparing to move the veela from the premises. If he could find a way to get Enjolras his memories back, they might stand a chance of getting the Aurors to back off. If anyone could cite a legal workaround, it was him.

The curse-breaker clasped the endless pouch at his side as he entered the floo room. He stood against the wall between two chimneys, out of the way in the crowd of people moving in and out of the numerous fireplaces lining the hall, flashes of green flickering in the dim candle light.  

Pulling at the clasp, he dug deep into the bag until his fingers found the cool glass neck of a rounded flask and pulled it free. One bottle of stimulant, kept against the strict order of Healer Simplice, just in case.

Alone in a busy hall he held the flask in hand, weighing his options. If he took a mouthful of the potion he would be able to continue on with energy, sharp clarity of mind and the pointed focus he needed to finish this quickly. Despite his forced sleep he was physically exhausted and his mind was at the edge of wandering. He needed the help and he hadn’t drunk a drop in two years, so his tolerance would be low enough to give him more than a few hours before he experienced any side effects, if he was lucky.

This particular brew of stimulant was a controlled substance commercially known as Gz700, although Grantaire was one of the few who were authorized to carry it. The potion had been handed out to Aurors in small doses during the war in order to keep them going in particularly stressful times. The effect was rather unpleasant, forcing focus to a point that it seemed the brain might split from the body and carry on beyond its physiological constraints and the aftermath was exhausting, but it was extremely useful during wartime.

The potion in small doses did not typically have side effects, but had a cumulative effect in that once a certain threshold amount was consumed the side effects would make themselves painfully known. Grantaire had exceeded that threshold long ago. While he was still taking the potion, he was prone to excessive bleeding and attacks of impending doom that would leave him paralyzed where he stood.

When he had been admitted into St Mungos it was because he had collapsed halfway through his case after coughing up a fountain of blood so heavy that he had nearly drowned before a Healer found him. That was on top of the multiple curses and lack of sleep. At that point the potion had been the only thing keeping him going and yet his body was physically dependent and tearing itself apart.

At that point he’d rather they’d just let him bleed out. In the previous weeks and months, he had known he was pushing his luck, he had been purposely self-destructive. If he couldn’t control anything else in his miserable fucking life he could at least drive himself into the ground. But the timing was terrible, because they brought him in halfway through his case he’d nearly lost his mind trying to finish it from his bed, his brain stretching itself apart.

At the end of his stay he was left with a clean bloodstream, two unbroken vows, and a curse that even his bastard father couldn’t break. And what a waste of fucking time that had been, like he hadn’t tried until his tongue was numb and his arms trembled to break it himself. He deserved it anyway, the old man probably thought so too. He’d stepped out of retirement with the intention of proving a point by un-cursing his son and when he failed he went on a spiral of cases that ended in his death by a suffocation curse. A noble Grantaire death, as it should be.

Despite all the agony he had suffered as a patient, Healer Simplice had been mercifully kind to him. Based upon his conversations with his father, she had guessed his vows and had him dismissed from ministry service. He was deeply indebted to her and her price was that he try to keep going. So, he did.

He shouldn’t risk taking the potion, he knew he shouldn’t. But the pounding in the back of his head urged him on. He had to finish this case, no half measures.

Fuck it.

He took a mouthful of the thin purple liquid; the taste was sickly sweet and the memories it stirred triggered his gag reflex but he forced it down. Taking a deep breath, he felt clarity creep through his mind, narrowing his focus. And with single minded determination he walked through the nearest fireplace and back into the headmaster’s office.

He was sprinting through the castle between crowds of startled students before he stopped to consider what he was doing and even then, he did not alter his course. Instead, he cursed the divination room for being so bloody far away. He took the tower steps three at a time before flinging open the trap door and climbing inside.

Eponine was staring up at him from her desk, her room devoid of students. “Um, can I help you?” she asked, watching him pant for breath, his heart was beating too fast. "R? Are you alright?"

"Fine,” he gasped, “When was the last time you talked to Montparnasse?"

She frowned. "Not since before he was in Azkaban, but I know he got out a few months ago. Wh-?"

He didn’t have time for questions. “What was he charged with?”

“Muggle exploitation, Enjolras was the main prosecutor in the case.” Her eyes widening as she spoke. “You don’t think-?”

"Any idea where he lives?"

"I visited his apartment in nocturn alley once, I’m not sure he still lives there.”

"Can you take me there?"

“Now?”

“Now. We don’t have much time. Is your fireplace hooked up to the floo network?”

“Yes,” she summoned a bag of powder and in a burst of green flame they were traveling to Nocturn Alley.

Slinking through the murky streets, the apartment was across from Borgin and Burkes. The building’s disposition just as ominous and slanted as any other on the block. When they approached the front entrance Eponine drew a short knife from her sleeve and slid it through the crack in the door pulling it open, wordlessly. She seemed to have gathered that he was not in the right mind for small talk. They climbed to the third floor where they came to a halt in front of a door.

“This was the one.” She said, “I doubt I’ll be able to use this to get in.” She indicated the knife.

Grantaire nodded, quickly breaking through a number of hexes and locks, it certainly felt like Montparnasse’ magic, Eponine worked with him in tandem, she was exceptionally adept at lock picking; the advantages of being raised in a family of thieves.

Beyond the doorframe, the interior of the room was a mess, which was unsurprising.

"What should we be looking for?" asked the seer, moving into the center of the cluttered space.

"Any books on transformation, curses, or anything related to veela." Grantaire began cautiously shuffling through papers. He chanted detection spells under his breath, not knowing what might be lingering.

Behind him, Eponine circled the room critically. "I know he used to hide things in books. I would start there.” She wandered over to a desk and began flipping through the pages of a small stack. Grantaire followed her lead leafing through as many books as he could locate. There were volumes of various sizes on all topics from the Many Uses of Muggle Weapons to Low Level Necromancy.

Ten minutes into their search Eponine found their book, the cover was without a title, dark blue, the seize of Eponine’s palm and half a centimeter thick. Three fourths of the way through the book, a page flipped open to a room full of dark objects. Eponine held the book open as Grantaire summoned forward stacks of materials, which grew in size as they exited the page. Grantaire was careful not to touch anything. There was a small horde of illicit objects that doubtless the Aurors would be dealing with later, but none of that mattered at the moment. Of particular interest were the bags of veela feathers, hair and teeth, as well as a book on infiltration into the veela realm and another on theoretical dark curses.

Seizing the latter book, Grantaire magically flipped through the pages to a section on the topic of half-breeds and separation magic. The discussion was broadly applied to all half-humans and proposed the physical separation of the human and the non-human to form two separate entities, binding the beast and setting the human free. A deeply worrying concept, but Enjolras had not been separated, he had been transformed.

He read through the process of the ritual and the spells involved.

"That's it." he exclaimed.

The separation started with the mind of the individual, the body was meant to follow but somewhere between the flawed nature of the ritual, the shoddy casting, and the creature of interest, a transformation had resulted. Grantaire was willing to bet that Enjolras human essence had been ejected from his body before his transformation and not having had a human body to possess it was lingering behind in the room. What that meant for Mabeuf he wasn’t sure, but that could wait. If he could suppress the veela mind and bring Enjolras consciousness back into his body, maybe he could buy them more time. Hopefully, when he was able to work out what was going on with the transformation, the separate minds would join back together as one.

Eponine was speaking, but Grantaire wasn’t hearing her. He stuffed the book into his bag and bolted out the door. They took the floo back to Hogwarts and Grantaire shouted his thanks to the former Slytherin before running off to the history of magic room, fumbling in his bag for a vile. When he reached the chamber, he threw open the door to the classroom and wasted no time searching for the strange presence he had felt before. Once he felt it, he gave a tug and drew out a series of glowing golden threads from the air, much like the memories of a pensive, he funneled the wisps into his waiting glass and stoppered the top, fleeing from the room.

Upon returning to St Mungos he nearly ran over a panicked Magnon.

"Mister Grantaire, the Aurors have arrived!" the mediwizard said in a strangled whisper, clearly overwhelmed.

Grantaire took the boy by the shoulders. "I need you to grant me permission to go through the barrier to the ward."

“But-“

“That’s the only way I’m going to be able to help him. I need to go now.” He knew his gaze must be intense, but his mind was racing too quickly to care.

The mediwizard gulped but with a shaking wave of his wand the permission was granted and Grantaire was on his way.

He would have to navigate the situation very carefully and would very possibly have to attack at least one person on his way through. He cast muffliato on himself so that none of the Aurors could order him to stop as he sprinted through the barrier to the prison ward and down the hall to the commotion of Enjorlas’ room. A small group of Aurors stood outside the door as three members the medical staff appeared to be arranging the bindings on the unhappy veela whose loud protests echoed into the corridor.  

Taking a rolling leap past the Aurors and into the room, Grantaire used carpe retractum to fling the staff members out the door before they knew what was happening. He sealed the door behind them with a multitude of charms before returning his hearing and spinning to face the veela who was staring at him in complete shock.

“What-?” Enjolras began, but Grantaire was already removing his restraints. The moment the veela was released he rolled off the bed a glided over to the wizard, nearly tackling him off his feet in the process. For a panicked second, Grantaire realized that he’d forgotten Enjolras was currently a flesh-eating monster. Fortunately, he did not seem to be interested in eating this particular human. He actually seemed more interested in keeping as little space between them as he could manage. Making little bell sounds into his ear, pressing his lips against the human’s jaw.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you," Enjolras chanted as he kissed his way to Grantaire's mouth, his lips burned like fire.

Grantaire pulled back, the fog of veela charm fighting for his attention despite the potion. "Enjolras, I need you to listen to me.” He dug around in his back for an empty flask. “I think I’ve found a way to bring your old memories back but I need you to place a record of your current memories in a container, in case something goes wrong."

"Which memories?" the veela asked, his thumb tracing the bow of Grantaire’s mouth, making him shudder.

"Killing the wizard in the cave and attacking the Auror, and anything you can manage in between that. We need to save an account so that they can’t say you knew what you were doing."

Enjolras frowned. “There’s something else as well.”

“I will have to suppress your presence to make space for your old memories, I don’t have time to bring them together properly.”

“So, I won’t remember any of this?”

“At least not for now.”

The blond stared unhappily. "If I do this, you have to promise me something."

"What?"

"I hurt you before, do not let me continue to hurt you."

Grantaire gave a huffed laugh. "I won’t lie. You could hurt me as much as you'd like and I'd thank you for it."

Enjolras drew him into a bruising kiss that left him breathless and dizzy even through his heightened focus. The veela continued on, his lips moving down his throat. There was a dull thump against the door, reminding Grantaire with a start of their limited time.

"We need to hurry- Agh!" he felt a hot shiver flood his body as Enjolras' teeth pierced the skin of his throat near the base of his neck. "I thought you were a veela not a fucking vampire!"

“I don’t want to forget this.” He cupped Grantaire’s face, bringing them together into a blood tinged kiss. "I don’t want you to forget this,” he breathed, his eyes were dark and wild.

"Believe me, I won’t." Not in a million years.

“Do what you must.” The veela bowed his head and allowed the wizard to remove the memories, safely sealing them away. When he withdrew the previously filled bottle the veela looked up, ignoring the flask full of his essence, his gaze pinning Grantaire in place, his eyes soft.

"You are wonderful, I wish you could understand,” he said sadly.

Grantaire’s heart ached. "I desperately wish you meant that." The wizard said, taking Enjolras’ face in his hands, and pressing a kiss to his forehead. He lingered there for a moment that was not long enough before he drew back and went through the motions of suppressing the veela’s memories. When he had finished, Enjolras stood blank faced and motionless, his eyes eerie and unseeing. The wizard unstopped the vial and began weaving the memories back into place.

After a terrifying few seconds Enjolras lifted his head in confusion, his eyes landing on the curse-breaker. "Grantaire?" His attention was momentarily diverted by a clatter on the other side of the still closed door. "What's going on?"

"Do you remember what happened?"

"I- No. The last thing I remember was sitting down at my desk back in Hogwarts. Where are we?" he glanced about wildly.

"High security ward in St Mungos. You've been cursed."

"Then why am I a prisoner?"

"You killed someone while you were transforming."

"I don’t remember.” His expression was stricken as he looked down at his scaled hands. “Am I.. Am I a veela?”

"Yes, I’m working on that. I have the memories from then to now stored if I can’t get your memories properly combined.”

“You mean I’ve been doing things since transforming?”

“Yes, your human consciousness was outside of your body… I’ll explain later. I need to go open the doors before someone breaks them down and arrests both of us. I assume you're supposed to be discharged to Azkaban and I had to attack the staff to get in. If you can think of any legal way to get around that…"

"Clearly, they should have no case, I should have been transferred magical creatures ward. They could have put me under guard if they really had to but-"

"Good to know,” Grantaire interrupted, “you’ve got until I open that door to form a solid argument. Also, I have technically been kicked off of your case, so if you want me removed, you should say so now and I can disengage, but if you don’t mind me working on you…"

Enjolras stared in confusion. “Of course, I don’t mind. Unless you don’t want to?”

“No, I want to. I just thought-“ He hadn’t been sure that Enjolras would trust him enough to allow that. “Never mind. Right, ah, well then I should…” When he turned to leave Enjolras pulled him back, stepping close and tilting the wizards head to look at the bleeding bite mark marring his neck.

He had gone pale. "Did I do that?" He gently pressed the skin around the wound as though he was trying to confirm its existence with Grantaire’s reaction, which was an awkward shudder and quick retreat, a hasty step back.

"Yes... Does it mean something to you?"

"It's a claiming mark. My father has one, he used to glamor it so that no one could see. It’s a possessive signal to other veela." He continued to stare at the mark though Grantaire was covering it with his hand, his face pinched.

"Does that mean I don’t have to worry about being eaten by a veela now?"

"Well, yes I suppose but-" his voice wavered, dipping into something close to panic, “I’m sorry if I- I hope I wasn’t-“

“Calm down, everything is fine. Whatever it is, don’t worry about it.”

“But-“

“Enjolras, it’s fine. Now I’ve got to open that door and hope I don’t get arrested.”

"Right, I- Grantaire." He stepped forward again to pull the wizard back to him, standing again a bit too close.

"Yeah?" Grantaire responded in shock.

"I- It's just- It’s good to see you," he smiled weakly, the heat from his hand seeped through the sleeves of Grantaire’s robes.

"Yes… You too." Unnerved, he pulled away and cautiously approached the door. He allowed it to swing open, dodging a spell as it did. “Before you drag me away, he has his memories back,” he called, hands raised in surrender.

“It doesn’t matter, we are taking him into custody,” seethed the only Auror of the bunch Grantaire recognized: Auror Dahlia. Grantaire had not ever personally worked with her as she dealt mostly in cases involving magical creatures, but he knew her by her brutal reputation. She had the highest closing rate on cases in her department and little sympathy when it came to the moral grays of wizard-creature relations.

Enjolras was immediately at Grantaire’s side. “Under section XI, article V of the current wizard-veela treaty, I should have been given the proper medical treatment in a non-hostile ward, and that aside cursed individuals are not responsible for their actions which are beyond their control. Have a sham investigation if you must, but you have no right to take me away.”

“Under the Dark Magic Protection Statute, we have the authority to arrest those individuals whose afflictions are a threat to safety, impeding their treatment,” Auror Dahlia pressed.

“And while, that may have been applicable before, as you might have noticed, I am currently in control of my mental functions and would appreciate being moved into another ward.”

They started at each other for what seemed a very long time before the Auror conceded. “Very well, we will sort this out when it comes to a trial. You will be transferred to another ward. You,” she pointed to Grantaire, “are coming with us.”

Enjolras side-stepped between Grantaire and the Auror, wings flaring into existence. “I want him on my case, whatever happens,” he spoke the words as a command, which the Dahlia was visibly struggling to resist.

“He openly attacked the staff, there must be consequences,” she spat.

“He wouldn’t have had to if I were receiving proper medical treatment in the first place,” the veela stressed.

“I think we should continue this elsewhere,” said Healer Gillenormand, Grantaire had not noticed her until that point, she must have been one of the staff members he’d attacked. “Mister Enjolras, if you will come with me.”

Enjolras did not move. Grantaire put a hand to his shoulder. ”Let me deal with this, at least now they have to treat you.”

“That’s not the point,” he replied tensely.

“Go.” Grantaire pushed him forward, the blond reluctantly gave in to his push, following the Healer though he stared after Grantaire as he left, all but one Auror following behind.

Dahlia stepped into the room to face the curse-breaker. “Mister Grantaire, you are a difficult man to pin down.”

“Yet here I am, pinned.”

“Indeed, and we would very much like you back.” That was not surprising he had been a favorite in his department, by design he never disobeyed a direct order.

When he had sworn away his allegiance to the ministry he was fourteen years old. Outside the bounds of Hogwarts, the ministry had experienced a number of information leaks and tensions were rising along with rumors had home that he was hanging around the disgraced Enjolras boy. Over the Christmas break his father had called him down into the main hall and left him no choice. Do not stand against the ministry and always obey ministry authorized orders. There would be no traitors in the Grantaire family, not again.

He’d made the unbreakable vow knowing that it would eventually tear him from his friends. He could be flexible with the confines of his vow, but the rules only bent so far. He found that he could remain a member of Les Amis while not believing in their cause and it was enough to stand amongst them while not being one of them.

“I thought you might. I assume that is the price for being allowed to resolve this case.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t suppose I’m important enough that you would stop trying to arrest him.”

“Not quite, but we could hold off until you finished.” She held out her hand.

“Very well. Once this case has finished I will return to the office and we can discuss the future of my career.” Magic laced the handshake, there would be no backing out.

“I look forward to working with you, inform us as soon as you have finished with the veela.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Working at the ministry again would be inviting disaster.

As a ministry employee, he was compelled to take on more cases than any other members of the staff, they always had another case waiting and they always gave him the worst because he was the best. He had seen some true horrors in that time.

Healer Simplice had removed him from the program by forcing his bosses to put him on indefinite medical leave until he was fit to return. Upon his release from the hospital he had established as many anti-tracking spells as he could manage. From then on, he had taken cases as they happened upon him, one at a time for the sake of his sanity.

Feeling cold to his core, Grantaire left the high security ward, making his way to the front desk to ask where Enjolras had been moved to, which turned out to be a single room in the magical creature ward. Before following that direction, he sent a note to the Hogwarts staff to update them on the situation and forced himself toward the office of Healer Simplice, despite the throbbing in his head that he should continue on the case.

“Grantaire,” she said as he entered his office, “are you alright?”

He took a shuttering breath, “I’m going back to the ministry.” The words felt sharp on his tongue

“ _What_?” she gasped.

“That was their price for letting me back on his case and I have to-“ he stopped. He should get back to working, not complaining to a busy Healer. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with this, I don’t know why I-“ he stopped again as the Healer stood from her desk and quickly approached him, enveloping him in a hug.

“Hush, I’m not going to let them bring you back without a fight,” she soothed.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly he wanted to hug her back but his arms weren’t cooperating.

She pulled back to look at him, taking his face in her hands. “For what? You have nothing to be sorry for. I am sorry the world has been so cruel to you, do not think for a second that you deserve it.” She brushed the curls back from his forehead and for a second, he thought he might start to cry.

He couldn’t find a reply that did not disagree with her so instead he hugged her properly. “I have a case to finish,” he said as he withdrew, taking a step toward the door.

“Wait a moment,” she laid her wand at his throat and attempted to heal his bite mark. The blood clotted but wound did not altogether disappear. “This a veal bite?” she asked.

“Yes, apparently I’ve been claimed.”

“And how are you feeling about that.”

Grantaire shrugged, “He already had my heart, might as brand me with the evidence.”

“Is he the one who...?”

Grantaire knew exactly what she was implying and so was unable to answer but his diverted eyes told a story.

She gave a sad sigh, “Oh Grantaire… and despite everything you still love him?”

Ashamed, he couldn’t face her. “More than I can say.” He turned his head to leave.

“Grantaire,” she called him back, “You’ve been through so much, I want you to know I’m proud of you.”

Her words stung. “Thank you,” he replied nearly inaudibly as he turned to leave.

* * *

Enjolras was speaking to a mediwizard Magnon when he walked into his room. The veela was sitting on the side of his bed, a very familiar frown marring his features.

"Are you back on?" Magnon asked at his approach.

"I am, how long have you been on duty?”

“Four hours past my shift, sir.”

“Then I think you should go get some rest,” Grantaire waved a hand but the boy hesitated. “Don’t worry, he's not under guard anymore.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thank _you_ , you’re a good deal better to work with than half the staff here.”

The boy smiled and thanked him again before leaving them alone.

"I assume that I cannot leave,” Enjolras sighed.

Grantaire shook his head. "Not until you are discharged. Although, they agreed not to try to arrest you until I’ve cleared the curse."

“That was kind of them,” the veela commented dryly.

“Strategic more like.”

The blond gave him a suspicious glance. “How did you talk your way back onto my case? I hope they aren’t charging you with anything.”

"I told them I would go back to working for the ministry."

“I didn’t realize you had stopped, when did that happen?"

"A few years ago, this is the first time since then they've managed to catch up with me."

"Is that why you have so many anti-trackers?"

"Partially. My services also tend to be in high demand and I can only take one case at a time. Anyway, I've let the Hogwarts staff know that they can visit you."

“How long have I been…?” he searched for the proper words.

“Nearly three days altogether.”

“I’ve missed my first day back then.”

“Yes.”

“How are we going to fix this?”

“ _I’m_ going to have to do some testing and some research, but I have the spell that was used. It’s just down to figuring out how it went wrong. _You_ just have to sit back and let me work, I know how difficult it will be for you.”

Enjolras gave him an irritated look. “Can we start the tests now? I don’t like being locked up here.”

“Sure. Can you try some wandless magic for me."

There was a pause as Enjolras’ face grew increasingly distressed. "I can't. I’m trying but nothing's happening." Despite this the air around him was starting to simmer with heat, threatening to set the sheets on fire.

So, his magic had not returned, that was curious. "It’s fine, that probably just means your magic has been completely transformed, once we get things back to normal it should return.”

There was a knock at the door, as Combeferre stepped inside.

“Come on in, Ferre,” Grantaire greeted him, “He finally has his brain back.”

“Are you alright?” Combeferre asked the blond.

“Fine,” Enjolras grimaced.

“Where is everyone else?” Grantaire wondered.

“Still in class, I have to get back soon but I wanted to make sure things were okay.”

“Tell everyone I’m fine. How exactly did this happen?” he looked to the two wizards.

Combeferre explained the events from the Hogwarts staff’s side before turning to Grantaire. “Eponine said that you think Montparnasse cursed him.”

“Yes, and I have the evidence to prove it,” he looked to Enjolras, “Do you have any idea when it could have happened?”

"I could make you a list of all the times I was cursed, but it may take a while, I suppose it would have to have been before he was sent away or within the last few months, but I haven’t seen him in that time."

"Were you with professor Mabeuf any of the times you were cursed?"

He paused to consider. "Once, January of this year I was cursed at Hogsmead. The spell only half hit me, but there didn’t seem to be any effect. Mabeuf would have been there, maybe he was standing beside me. Why?"

"I think his mind is still floating around in his room, his body did not have another half to turn into so it just looked like he had fallen into a coma."

"Was my mind floating around my room?"

"Yes, I suppressed your veela memories and opened your mind to let the human memories back in. I think once I get your body transformed the memories will mesh."

"That’s… good. I'd like to remember what I've been up to." His eyes fell to the bite.

Grantaire’s head was increasingly pounding. "Yes, well, anyway, I’ve got books on magical theory to work through."

"Wait." Enjolras’ words were laced with allure.

Grantaire stopped dead.

"Can't you do that here, I can help. I mean if you want to do it on your own fine but..." he was gradually getting more worked up.

Grantaire stared in shock. “I just thought you might want-“

“Stay.” Enjolras cut him off.

"Enjolras, are you alright?" Combeferre asked, placing a hand on the veela’s shoulder.

“I feel… strange,” he said in visible discomfort.

“Strange how?” Grantaire asked, immediately worried something he had done had triggered a reaction in the spell and Enjolras might suddenly start to fall to pieces before his eyes.

“Like I can’t stop myself from doing things. Impulsive, I suppose. I didn’t mean to command you. I shouldn’t have done that,” he agonized.

“It’s fine, maybe veela just have lower impulse control.” That would certainly explain a lot. “You seemed to be operating mostly on instinct before. Just out of curiosity, do you still crave human flesh?"

"Yes,” the blond confessed, “but I don’t think I want to eat you."

“You don’t want me to leave either,” he observed, perplexed.

"No, I don't want to let you out of sight,” he said awkwardly, “I think it's perhaps the mark making me a bit possessive."

“Mark?” Combeferre asked wearily.

Grantaire tilted his head to show the bite mark, which had begun to bleed again, that was not a good sign. As he was doing the mental calculation on how he would deal with excessive blood loss if the need arose, Enjolras and Combeferre appeared to be having a silent conversation.

"If you really want me to stay,” the curse-breaker interrupted, “you're welcome to help me look through the information. Combeferre, you are also welcome to join."

“I should be getting back to class,” the transfiguration professor said, though he looked like he very much wanted to stay, casting Enjolras worried looks as Enjolras gave him a slightly panicked stare. “I’ll let everyone know you’re alright, I’m sure we’ll all be back later tonight.”

“See you then.”

Combeferre clasped Enjolras on the shoulder and again they were alone.

Grantaire began nervously removing the relevant books from his bag, setting them on the bedside table. He hesitated once they were all laid out. "So, before we start. I don't mean to make this unnecessarily awkward but..."

"Is this about something I did while transformed?" Enjolras’ expression was bleak.

"Yes."

"Then whatever I did I'm deeply sorry for any discomfort I may have caused." He shifted awkwardly and Grantaire imagined his wings twitching, though they were unseen.

"Don't worry about it. I was more worried for you. It's your body, which was doing things without your permission."

"I just hope I wasn't...” he searched for the works, “Too forward. I know veela have that reputation."

Grantaire gave a nervous laugh, "Maybe a bit. Your veela side actually seemed to like me, which was probably good, otherwise I’d be dead, but it was a bit odd."

"I like you," Enjolras blurted, looking as if he desperately wished he could take the words back in the instant he said them.

"Do you?" Grantaire asked dubiously.

"Yes,” Enjolras huffed indignantly, “And I really appreciate your willingness to help me through this."

"It's my job."

"Still. This is me appreciating you."

"Okay… Are you sure you're alright?"

“I’m fine,” he snapped, then a thought seemed to occur to him. “Are _you_ alright? We hadn’t heard anything from you in so long. How did they even get you here?”

“Through a happy accident. I’ve been… busy.”

“Not working for the ministry.”

“Independent work.”

“Merlin, it feels as though it’s been a very long time.”

“Five years _is_ a long time. I’m incredulous that this is happening at all. I figured by the end of the war you would have been killed staging an insurrection.”

“You would think that,” Enjolras scoffed.

Grantaire smiled at the familiar tone as his brain continued to scream against his deviation from his assigned task. “But you ended the war so quietly, I always wanted to know what happened.”

“I was hit with a botched curse in February, it was bad enough that Joly and Courfeyrac had to keep me under constant watch. I was incapacitated until nearly a month after the war ended,” he said bitterly.

That made a terrible amount of sense. “Well, I know you probably won’t want to hear this, but I’m glad you were out of the fighting.”

“We could have overthrown the ministry. Everything could have been different by now,” the veela insisted, passion coloring his inflection.

“Or you could have met an early end and neither of us would be here to have this conversation.”

Enjorlas gave a frustrated sigh. “What could have been doesn’t matter, I’m here now.”

“And we have a lot of information to look through.”

“Yes, we had best get started, I would like my magic back.”

They spent the next few hours sorting through the information and running small tests. Bit by bit they worked until they had laid out a series of enchantments. By the time they had finished and had a plan in place, Grantaire was on the last bit of fuel from the potion. It had been shockingly easy to get along with Enjolras, who was as focused and intelligent as he remembered though now he watched Grantaire more closely than he ever had before, which had nearly made the wizard lose his train of thought multiple times during the process.

Grantaire stood, drawing his wand. “Ready to get this over with?”

"Yes, but...” the blond took a steady breath, “Before we go through with this, I wanted to apologize for our last meeting… In case something goes wrong and I don’t get the chance."

Grantaire’s heart gave a hopeful lurch. "Tensions were high… I understand why you did it."

"Still, I know I got a bit… intense and I'm sorry if I was the reason you left us.” Intense probably did not do his behavior justice, at times he had been frightening. The war made him reckless. Combeferre had once been forced to talk him out of breaking into the ministers office to stage an assassination attempt in broad daylight. And thank Merlin he hadn't gone through with it, Grantaire could only not say so much. If Les Amis did plan an assassination, he imagined he would have been forced to rat them out.

"You were," he said honestly. That much should have been obvious.

Enjolras winced but seemed unsurprised. "I stand by what I did, you shouldn't have been there and I think you know that, but... I should have handled it better."

Grantaire laughed breathlessly as his stomach dropped, Enjolras’ words hit him like a hard slap to the face. "Well, I can't say I forgive you but again, I understand,” he made the effort not to sound hurt but was not entirely sure he succeeded.

“I hope my presence won’t keep you from seeing everyone in the future,” the blond said awkwardly.

“I think the ministry will prevent me from that, but I’ll make an effort to keep up with all of you,” he paused. Desperation suddenly taking hold of him “Are you not going to-? I mean-“ His words stopped themselves. He gave a frustrated sigh, roughly bringing a hand through his hair.

“What?” Grantaire heard the word spoken, but he could not think straight.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter,” he muttered, a cold ache seeping into his chest, as the blood rushed in his head.

“Are you alright? Your nose is bleeding.”

He touched his face and his fingers came away red. “I’m fine, it happens every now and then. Old curse,” he lied, “I’ll be right back.” He headed off to the toilet, by which time his nosebleed was a heavy stream. In the early stages the blood was easily clotted with a wave of his wand. He was more focused on keeping his emotions in check. Enjolras seemed pleasant enough toward him, but if he was still unwilling to release him from this hell then… He shoved the thought aside and took another mouthful of potion, more than he would need. Fuck, he wanted to get this over with. He took a moment to feel the tug of the potion before heading back to face Enjolras.   

“Sorry about that,” he said mildly as he reentered the room, “Ready to get your body back?”

“Yes.”

“Sure you want me to be the one to do this?”

“I trust you.”

Perhaps the last five years truly had been leading up to this. Grantaire sealed the door and began the three-hour long process of undoing the curse, the veela was unconscious for most of the procedure. It was far easier to work on an unconscious patient. By the time he finished his voice was horse and his legs ached from standing so perfectly still, but there was a half-human lying in the bed where there was before a magical creature. His mind neatly tied back together.

The curse-breaker’s task was completed. He stared down at the blond for a long moment before moving away. He really did not want to face Enjolras when he woke up. He didn’t want to see his reaction to his pathetic behavior over the past two or so days, so instead he left the room.

Outside the door the Hogwarts staff was waiting.

“What’s going on?” asked Courfeyrac.

“Everything should be back to normal, you’re free to visit him. He should wake in the next few minutes.” He stepped aside as they rushed in.

He turned to an Auror who was lingering in the corner. “Tell your boss that I have to visit Hogwarts one last time and then I will report to his office.”

The man nodded in response and Grantaire made his way to the floo hall.

This time when Grantaire appeared in the headmaster’s office, the headmaster was actually present.

“Ah, mister Grantaire.” Valjean looked up from what appeared to be a letter. “I was just about to send you a message. How are you?”

“I am well, Professor Enjolras should be returned to normal. I must make one last trip to the defense against the dark arts room, I believe the spirit of professor Mabeuf lingers there.”

“Oh dear. What will you do with it?”

“I thought we should leave that to the family. I will deliver it to you once I have finished collecting it, then my task will have been completed.”

“Thank you, it may interest you to know that I did managed to get ahold of minister Javert, our communication just ended. I do not think the Aurors will be charging professor Enjolras with anything, at least not anytime soon.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Very glad. “I will send the vial to you once I have it. Then I must be on my way, if there are any further problems you should be able to find me through the ministry curse-breaking department as I will be reclaiming my position there. "

"I see,” he said unhappily, “Will you not be coming back this way?”

“I thought I would walk down to Hogsmead on my way out. Post-case energy to burn,” he said in only half a lie.

“Well, thank you. What is your price? I don’t think you mentioned."

Grantaire shook his head. Half the time he didn’t take any payment, the money did not motivate him. "Don't worry about it. It was enough to see everyone again."

"I insist-“

“No, I have enough to live on. Thank you for calling for me.”

“If that is truly what you wish.”

“It is.”

“Then it was a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire replied.

Once he left the headmaster’s office, he forced himself to slowly make his way through the halls on his way to the defense against the dark arts room before he carefully collected the wayward soul and stood in the middle of the now empty classroom, an empty feeling in his chest. He honestly wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse after seeing his old friends again. After seeing Enjolras again. Was it worth coming back to see them? He might not even get the chance once he was back at the ministry, and that alone was likely to initiate old arguments and he was so fucking tired of fighting.

His task completed, he sent the vial away and walked back through the castle; his choice to take the long way off the grounds an effort to extend his freedom for a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached critical angst levels, as my writing quality continues to deteriorate. This chapter is so choppy, it really needs more work but ugh...
> 
> And the return of Enjolras, my cruel darling…. Still a precious few plot threads to come undone and then you can tell me if the foundation of this story is fucked up because I can’t tell. Next chapter should be the last… unless I decided to do a tiny epilogue.
> 
> Also, R should not have hung around les amis during the war, as soon as someone asked him “what are les amis plans?” he would have to spill his guts or be like “fuck you!” *drops dead*
> 
> Thanks.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E realizes something is very very wrong and chases down r.

Enjolras came into awareness slowly, his mind hazy and body aching to every inch of his skin. He sluggishly attempted to process what was happening—what had happened. But it all felt very far away. Distantly he could hear people speaking.

“-Hush, Marius! I think he’s waking up.” He recognized Courfeyrac’s voice and his eyes opened to locate its source, but the light sent him blinking back into darkness.

“Enjolras?” came Joly’s nervous tone.

“Give me a second.” Enjolras brought a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes, pushing himself into a sitting position, though his body protested through a thousand tiny pains. He opened his eyes to find his fellow staff members watching him anxiously. “When did you all get here?” he asked when he was finally able to focus.

“About an hour ago,” Bossuet said, “But R was still working. He finally finished up a minute ago.”

Right, Grantaire. It was strange how he slid so easily back into conversation after his long absence, and what odd circumstances to have met in again; cursed and in need of a curse-breaker. It was almost too perfect.

The half-veela’s mind turned automatically to their first encounter upon his waking, but their conversation in the high security ward was not what came to him, instead he saw Grantaire standing at the bottom of an unfamiliar valley, an expression of awe and horror captured on his face, the image distorted as his veela eyes stung and he was forced to look away. The memory was corrupted with pain and the scent of human blood.

He must have made a strange expression because someone at his side called his name, reclaiming his attention. “Sorry, I think my memories are coming back, it’s very disconcerting to remember doing things I didn’t do.” His thoughts turned toward the lingering violent intent from the image he had just seen and he remembered tearing Montparnasse to pieces and Grantaire trying to keep him from eating the body. The curse-breaker had been lucky he was so useful, otherwise Enjolras would have killed him as well. The truth of that realization turned his now human stomach and he pressed a hand to his head, wishing to clear the thought away.

“Are you feeling alright?” asked Joly somewhat frantically, “Where is Grantaire?” He cast his glance about as though he might suddenly appear amongst them.

“He’s probably removing Mabeuf’s spirit from his room,” Enjolras reasoned, forcing his hand away from his face. Grantaire had been far more focused in their interactions that Enjolras could remember him having been in school. He did not ramble so much about nothing and the light in his eye was fixated on a goal. As a student, he was easy in his studies, more invested in watching the clouds move across the sky, or spiders skitter across the walls, or, more often than not, assessing how quickly he could find the bottom of a firewhisky bottle. Now, however, he would likely not have lingered waiting for Enjolras to wake before moving on to his next task. Had he not expressed an interest in seeing everyone again, Enjolras might have worried that he would be lost to them again. “I’m fine, I promise, remembering everything is just somewhat unpleasant.”

“What _do_ you remember?" Combeferre asked calmly.

Enjolras tried to remember what he remembered, but nothing new came to him. "I'm not sure, everything I assume, but not all at once. If I start thinking about one thing, my brain makes the connection to another thing that I don’t remember.” It was like reminiscing about long forgotten childhood events.

“And you’re sure everything is alright?” Jehan asked, “Working with the mind is very tricky.”

He nodded, “I ache all over and my head kills, but I feel normal otherwise.” He could feel his magic again. He lifted a hand and brought to life a little blue flame between his fingertips to a rush of relief, followed by a strange sort of sadness. The feel of the flame was different than summoning fireballs, his heart panged at the loss of that ability, despite being overjoyed to have his magic back. Using veela magic felt more natural—more like breathing than spell casting—there was no effort to be made the flame simply came to him.

In a way, existing as a veela felt less restrictive than existing as a wizard and oddly enough, he could now sympathize with the mother he had never known. As a veela he had felt more like an observer of human life than a participance in it, he was somehow out of place among them. With his father she probably hadn’t seen anything wrong with leaving him a baby and carrying on her way. A half-wizard baby would only slow her down and she likely believed she had more important things to think about, whether she really did or not.

“Has anyone seen my wand?” he asked abruptly, “It must have been on me when I transformed.”

“We haven’t seen it,” Marius shook his head.

“Well, I hope I didn’t incinerate it.” It was entirely possible that in his attack on Montparnasse, his wand had burned in the ensuing firestorm. It would not be his first destroyed wand; the wand he was currently using was his fifth.

His father had snapped his first wand in half on the night he was disowned.

He had thrown his second wand at Grantaire in potions class. The Ravenclaw had been throwing flowers at him while the professor’s back was turned. The flowers would upon reaching him, imbed themselves in his hair, which was both very distracting and disconcerting to feel foreign objects moving about on his head. So, in a fit of irritation, he had picked up the nearest object in his reach and threw it across the divide between their tables.

His wand had bounced awkwardly off Grantaire’s shoulder, shooting a few green sparks as it fell into his caldron, which promptly exploded. They had been forced to evacuate the room, but the exchange had occurred in the back row and no one else had seen. The event was considered an accident and no one was punished, except perhaps Enjolras who felt he might suffocate under the weight of his embarrassment, while Grantaire found the incident intensely amusing, seemingly proud of the fact that he could drive the Slytherin to such madness. Grantaire had always tended to make him irrational.

His fourth wand had peeled itself apart in his rage at the ministry, which should not have been possible but for his touch of veela magic. He almost pitied the Auror who was sent to remove him from the building, his fury burned scorch marks in the floor as he very purposely walked out, taking the longest rout that he could get away with.

Still, he would be sorry to see his fifth want go; Vine, Dragon Heartstring, 11 inches, quite rigid. It had done him well.

“You know, I knew Grantaire was probably a good curse-breaker,” Courfeyrac was saying, the conversation having moved on while he mourned the death of another doomed wand, “but what he did was honestly amazing, and in such a short amount of time.” He pinched lightly at Enjolras now scale-free arm and was quickly slapped away.

It _was_ amazing. Grantaire’s work was exceptional. Enjolras remembered the unrestrained rush of affection he’d experienced when Grantaire had undone his first set of curses. Even in his altered state, he had been immediately drawn to the wizard and had been terrifyingly vocal about it. He just wanted to smother him with attention. Which must have been very confusing at the time, what with the looming threat of being eaten, but Grantaire had handled it all remarkably well, even the neediness.

“Enj, your blushing,” Jehan poked at him.

Enjolras could feel the heat in his face. "Yeah. I… It was incredible to watch him work.”

Courfeyrac snickered, “How did he handle you as a veela? Obviously, he was able to control himself enough to get the job done.”

“I got the impression that he was well behaved and Enjolras was the one causing trouble,” Combeferre said through a traitorous smile.

“I was… perhaps a bit forward with him." Enjolras’ admitted in a failed attempt to sound casual before giving up on the pretense, “Merlin, I just did and said whatever came into my head, there was no filter. Thankfully, I wasn’t saying most of it in English.” A veela could get away with doing and saying whatever they wanted on their charm alone, no one would stand in the way, therefore there was no need to hold back.

“What, you were trying to seduce him with your sweet nothings as he worked?” Eponine scoffed.

“Worse than that.” Enjolras blurted, “I mean, I _bit_ him. I should not have done that. He is going to have that mark for the rest of his life and I didn’t even-“ he tugged at his hair, making a strangled sound. Not to mention he’d used his allure multiple times to coax him into physical contact and merlin there had been a lot of kissing. He had just _needed_ to be close. He would have done whatever Grantaire wanted as long as it kept him there. Desperate for his attention. He had been endlessly frustrated with Grantaire’s reluctance.

“So, you were all over him?” Cosette teased.

“As much as I could be while strapped to a hospital bed.” And much more than that while out of said bed.

“And how did he take it?” asked the blond girl.

“He was more concerned with how I would feel about it once I remembered...” He stopped, unease creeping over him in a flash as he remembered how little he thought of himself having heard Grantaire’s telling of things. On Grantaire’s information, he had gathered that he was terrifying, driven, and thought so very little of Grantaire that the wizard was genuinely worried what would happen once he regained his memories, and yet Grantaire still adored him. He could sense the overwhelming fondness from the wizard, despite the rawness of his hurting. And Grantaire himself had admitted that he would gladly accept any pain so long as he had Enjolras’ attention. That knowledge only added to his nausea, twisting like a knife in his gut.

“Are you alright, E?” Combeferre asked.

Enjolras made a sound in the back of this throat. “He’s in love with me. Has he always been in love with me?” he asked quietly.

“Probably, I always figured one look was all it took.” Courfeyrac said, “That he kept with it after you opened your mouth is rather more impressive.”

The words made Enjolras’ skin prickle with shock and yet he did not feel it within himself to be surprised.

Perhaps he’d had a sense of it while at Hogwarts. Grantaire had hovered in his vicinity as a friend of his friends for their first two years of school, at which point Bahorel had brought him into a meeting of what would become Les Amis d’ABC. During that meeting, the Ravenclaw had sat back attentively observing until Enjolras had asked for the new member’s thoughts, wherein he released a rambling series of counter arguments to all of Enjolras’ ideas. It had been infuriating. And yet he continued to come to the meetings, despite his cynicism. And perhaps his gaze lingered a bit too long, but such glances were not uncommon to Enjolras, given his blood status. More telling perhaps was the fact that he went out of his way for Enjolras’ attention, positive or negative, either way their interactions usually ended in bickering.

Yes, perhaps he had known and refused to see it, his mind occupied by more pressing matters.

 “Even after all this time?” Eponine asked, “When he didn’t come back, I assumed that he’d gotten over it. I didn’t think he had the strength to stay away otherwise, even if you did throw him out.”

That gave Enjolras’ panic pause. “When _did_ I throw him out?”

“The last week in November, I believe,” Combeferre supplied.

“And he didn’t attend any meetings after that?”

“No, why?”

“He showed me a memory of me throwing him out of the Musain, but I don’t remember it happening.”

“He wasn’t at any of the other meetings. Are you sure he wasn’t mistaken?”

“He believed what he saw and I have a terrible feeling about this. I want to get this cleared up as soon as possible, it’s such a mess.”

“Which is why you need to be very careful about what you say,” Combeferre warned.

“I know, when I see him I plan to be direct and honest.”

“Completely honest?” Combeferre and Courfeyrac were the only two who knew the depth of his thoughts when it came to Grantaire, not that the others might have guessed.

“Of course.” Enjolras was somewhat indignant about the reprimand but it was true that he had never been very good with handling feelings. It was much easier to ignore them and focus on the big picture.

The half-veela was saved from being pressed further when their conversation was disrupted by a knock at the door, where an unfamiliar Healer stood in the doorway. "Sorry to step in, but I need to speak with the patient alone,” she said pleasantly.

She stepped to the side as the guests filed out, once they had gone she let the door fall closed as she approached the bed. "Hello, I'm here to check on the stability of your magic." Her tone was professional, though a bit cool.

"You aren't assigned to my case." Enjolras observed. She was too high ranked to be on the same case as another high-level Healer such as Gillenormand.

"No,” she nodded, “but I like to be the one who does the double checking on all of Grantaire's work, that way he doesn't have to be called back if there is an issue."

He raised an eyebrow, "You know Grantaire then."

"Yes, and I understand you do as well." Her voice wavered into disapproving territory.

"Ah yes, he can’t have had many nice things to say about me."

"He had plenty of nice things to say, though I wish he hadn't," she opened her mouth to say more, but the words were lost. She sighed in frustration.

Enjolras felt a twisted jolt of gilt, but for what he wasn’t entirely sure. "Do you know where he is?"

"I assume he has returned to whoever called for him in the first place,” she said as she began a series of slow wand movements.

The blond hesitated. "This might be a lot to ask under the circumstances, but could you let me out of here to go after him? I think we really need to talk."

She gave him a stern look. "That man has been through far too much, do not put him through anymore."

"I won't. I need to clarify a few things and thank him for what he’s done, I got the impression he wouldn’t be coming back to chat,” he wavered, “And… Is there anything I should know before I speak with him?" He could feel that he was missing something.

The Healer lowered her wand. "I assume you don't know about the vows."

Enjolras’ chest felt suddenly very tight. "What vows?"

"I don’t know the exact details, but I know he was forced into curse-breaking and is incapable of ignoring ministry orders. I assume, given the strength, that his father must have forced him to make a series of unbreakable vows at a very young age. They are an old magic family, as you may know.”

Enjolras felt sick. He thought of all the time he'd spent trying to comprehend Grantaire's sudden perplexing choice to go into curse-breaking. In retrospect it seemed so obvious. Grantaire the talker always seemed to become rather quiet when his future was brought up. Initially at least, then he became exceptionally antagonistic. Near the end of their term they had had a particularly nasty fight that ended with Grantaire sputtering at him in frustration. "I didn't know."

"Well, now you do and I hope that you are going to amend this situation."

"I swear that I will," he said, though again he felt he was missing something.

"He is supposed to report back to the ministry after this case is completed. Do not let him go back into that office,” she stressed, “They'll never let him out again. I had to do a lot of maneuvering to get him out the first time.”

“I will stop him,” Enjolras swore.

“Then you may leave through my office. And you'd better hurry, you can follow me out under a disillusionment charm."

“First, let me inform my friends I haven’t befallen something terrible.”

Instead of reopening the door, she handed him a slip of parchment and a quill which he quickly used to write a note detailing his intention. Once completed, the charm was cast they were leaving the room. One fast paced walk later, Enjolras stepped out of a fireplace and into the headmaster's office.

"Enjolras,” Valjean said in shock from his seat at his desk, “It is good to see you well."

"Yes, sorry,” the professor spoke in a rush, “Was Grantaire here?"

"Yes, he left my office not long ago. He sent me this." The headmaster held up a swirling vial. "So, I assume he is on his way out."

"Has he left then?"

"He said he was walking out through Hogsmead, you might still have time to catch him if you hurry."

"Thank you, sir." He sprinted from the room toward the grand staircase. He didn’t have the time to wait for the stairs to cooperate so he threw himself over the railing and used his magic to cushion his fall to the first floor where he charged out the front door and out onto the grounds.

His lungs burned by the time he caught up with the lone figure ahead of him, and his body felt as though it may spool apart. He found himself desperately missing his wings, he hadn’t had the chance to use them properly. 

"Grantaire!" he shouted once he was within hearing range.

The wizard turned in shock, the light from his wand eerily illuminating his face in the darkness. "Enjolras? How did you get out?"

Enjorlas came to a halt, panting for breath. "A Healer sent me out to stop you."

"I assume that was Healer Simplice, but stop me from what exactly?"

"Going back to the ministry."

"Alright, good luck with that.” Grantaire laughed darkly, “I hope you know that you volunteered for a fight.”

“I know about the vows you made,” Enjolras said breathlessly.

He stilled in shock. “You… She told you, did she?”

“Yes. Grantaire, I can’t even begin to say how sorry I am. I can’t imagine all you’ve been through after school.” He stepped closer, wishing he could better convey his feelings; words seemed somehow limiting.

“You couldn’t have known.” Grantaire’s expression was torn as though he had half his mind somewhere else. He was shifting as though he wanted to continue moving along the path but was forcing himself to stay in place. “I wanted so badly to tell you.”

“I know now. And I want to make amends.”

“Then I forgive you for not knowing and I must be on my way.” He made as though to follow his drive to keep moving but then turned back as if remembering something. “How do you feel? How is your memory? Everything is in the right place, I hope."

Enjolras reclaimed the steps Grantaire had taken toward the village. "Fine, I'm remembering things in pieces, that's another reason I wanted to talk to you."

Grantaire made an unpleasant face. "Look, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable-"

"No, I should be making that apology. But it’s not about that, it's about that memory you showed me; the one where I threw you out of the Musain."

"What about it?"

"I don’t remember it happening.”

The laugh Grantaire gave in response was dark and humorless, “Was it that forgettable?”

“No, I don’t remember most of December through February because of the curse I told you about. I got the impression there was more to it that you weren’t sharing, so I wanted to ask what happened."

"I can’t say."

"Why not?"

His lips pressed shut and he struggled in the same way that Healer Simplice had.

Enjolras felt a glimmer a panic. “Can you _show_ me the rest?”

“If I must, I don’t particularly like to think about it and...” he stopped himself, eyes to the ground.

“Please.”

“Fine.” Grantaire lifted a hand to the blonde’s forehead and then he was seeing through eyes that were not his.

* * *

Grantaire was running on fumes or rather the dregs of the last potion he'd downed nearly six hours ago. Something to keep him awake, but the name was absent from his memory as he swiftly approached the Musain, a muggle pub outside of Liverpool.

It was two days after Christmas, he'd spent the holiday cleaning up a bloody mess in Manchester. He hadn't been to a meeting in weeks, not since he’d been removed back in November and he was drowning in work. He had only just slipped away and just wanted to see everyone one last time. The news that Enjolras had nearly been killed within that week had shaken him badly.

As he walked through the doorway to the Musain, he was forced to walk through backwards. He had taken on a botched curse from an important Auror that caused the skin to peel back from the victim’s feet as they passed through doorways. He hadn’t yet had the time to undo it, though if he walked through backward he could avoid the effects.

He was the first member of the group to have arrived, or so he thought. Seconds after he had taken a seat at an empty table, Enjolras stormed into the room having walked through an unseen door. When he caught sight of Grantaire, he grabbed the curse-breaker by the arm and pulled him into the hidden backroom, out of earshot from anyone muggle or otherwise who might be listening. He wasn’t bothering to hide his magic, what the owners thought, Grantaire could not imagine. That was very dangerous, even for Enjolras. If any ministry officials were tailing him they would have reason to arrest him for breaking the statute of secrecy.

The curse-breaker was too startled to protest and could feel the blood oozing into his socks as he passed from one room to the next.

“What are you doing here?” the blond hissed, roughly dropping his grip on Grantaire’s arm.

Grantaire held up his hands in surrender, shifting from foot to foot in discomfort. “I know I shouldn’t have come but-“

“You’re right, you should _not_ have come.”

“Please let me stay.”

“Will you tell us what the Aurors are up to?”

“I can’t,” he said desperately, “I wish that I could.”

“If you refuse to be useful, then what is the point of you?”

“I guess I don’t have one. I’ll leave if I must, but at least let me stay until everyone as arrived. We are all a breath from death and I want to see everyone together one last time.”

“If you stay you will waste my time, as you do now, with pointless conversation.”

“Then I will keep my mouth shut. What harm can I do then?”

Enjorlas gave him a suspicious look over. “For all I know you might be waiting for us all to arrive so that you could call in a team of Aurors to arrest us.”

Grantaire gaped at him, “I would _never_ turn on you. Surely, you must know that. I would swear it on whatever you ask.”

“And yet you are in the pocket of the ministry.”

“Curse-breaking, not fighting.” That wasn’t exactly true, he fought when he had to, but even Enjolras must see that he was only trying to stay alive.

“You spend all day returning Aurors to good health.”

“Some would say I’m helping people,” he allowed some venom to seep into his words.

“You are aiding the enemy,” the blond returned harshly.

“ _Merlin_ , Enjolras, I’m just trying to do my fucking job.”

Having apparently had enough, Enjolras grabbed him again by the arm and pulled him back out the hidden door. Once they were through the doorway Grantaire shook off his hold. As they stood there in the middle of the Musain, Grantaire thought for a moment Enjolras might initiate a duel.

From there, the memory repeated what Enjolras had already seen. Though this time, when the spell hit Grantaire in the chest, it came with the understanding of what that action meant. It was a curse, warped and malicious. From that point on he could not rest until his cases were completed, which drove him to drink enough potions to nearly get himself killed; he could not say no to a plea for a curse-breaker, which left him desperately trying to hold together those individuals who were beyond his help, sometimes at the expense of others as he was forced to watch them die; and almost worst of all, difficult cases found their way to him so that he had no time between, not a single moment of rest, his sleep was found only through medication and collapses of exhaustion.

Where before he had been pointless, now Enjolras had made him very useful indeed.

* * *

When the memory diminished and Grantaire removed his hand, Enjolras felt as though he might throw up. “What the fuck?” he gasped in horror, “ _What the_ _fuck_?”

“Yeah, I wanted to ask you the same question. I mean, I get that I was a pain, but that was seriously fucked up. My life has been even more fucking awful than it would have been. Don’t get me wrong, maybe I deserved it, but seriously, what the fuck?” His tone was bitter rather than angry, resigned.

“I- I have no explanation,” Enjolras’ mind reeled endlessly, “I cannot _fathom_ why I would do such a horrible thing. I am _so_ fucking sorry.”

Grantaire laughed somewhat hysterically. “Honestly, it’s a relief to know that you didn’t remember. When it happened, I thought you would…” he struggled around the magic for a moment, trying to find the words, “Fix things when you were less angry with me or when the war was over, but when you didn’t I just assumed you must seriously fucking hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. I really _really_ don’t. How can I-“ his words were halted in his mouth. He started again, “How _do_ I fix this?”

“Well, I couldn’t tell you…” Grantaire shrugged, “but vindictive curses such as this are nearly always washed away with the permission of the caster. All they must do is search out the magic and will it to disappear, it makes them immensely difficult to break, especially when said caster is powerful. But that can wait, I really must go.” He turned again to leave, but Enjolras grabbed his arm.

“No, the ministry can wait.” He took Grantaire’s hands between his, and felt for his own trace of magic. After a moment he found it, barely but discernably hateful and malignant. It fell away under his pressure and Grantaire swayed where he stood. “Thank you,” The curse-breaker gripped his hands tightly and brought them to his chest, his voice straining as if he might cry. “Thank you.”

Enjolras felt close to tears himself. “I’m the one who did this, do not thank me.”

“You did not know.”

“But you did. By all rights you should hate me. Merlin, I cannot imagine why I would have done that to you. That was fucking horrible. Everyone said I was erratic, but this is completely _insane._ I am so so so sorry. And I can’t even remember it.”

“What kind of curse did you say it was?”

"I'm not sure. Courf said it was a botched sleeping curse Aurors use when they have to resort to extreme measures.” He’d been on his way to the Musain when he was struck from behind, luckily Feuilly had shown up seconds after the attack had occurred and chased off the assailant. Enjolras was not especially well versed in the repertoire of spells that the Aurors had under their belts, but he did know that they were not typically in the habit of cursing people, unless the circumstances were extreme.

Grantaire frowned. “Was it an instant sleep curse with the intent to keep an individual incapacitated so long as they remain in the vicinity of the caster?”

“Yes, that sounds right.”

“That is an extremely simple curse to cast and it’s knowledge is restricted by the Auror codes so it was most definitely an Auror doing the casting. But that aside, it must have taken some effort to fuck up. What were your symptoms?”

“Well, I did not wake up once the caster disapperated, but other than that, exhaustion, muscle weakness, they actually couldn’t wake me at all for about a week, I didn’t eat, and I lost most of my memory from December onward, as I said.”

Grantaire was befuddled. “That… Even if the spell were botched, which would have been some feat, your symptoms are likely to have been stimulatory rather than depressive, I won’t bore you with the magical theory but you should not have continued to sleep, unless… You weren’t taking any potions of any kind, were you?”

“No.”

“Nothing with any unicorn products, especially unicorn essence?”

“Of course not!” The harvest of unicorn essence was a grotesque process, punishable by fifteen years in Azkaban, Enjolras had always pushed for the punishment to be more severe. He would never intake any unicorn product on principal.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely sure.”

“Grantaire, unless it was leaching directly into my tap water, I was intaking no unicorn essence.”

But Grantaire seemed to have only attached to this idea. “You were staying in a muggle apartment at the time, right? The ministry had your address. You would have been the only one effected in your building if a potion was tapped into your water. If you had unicorn essence in your body when the curse hit you, the effects of the magic would have been warped. And, if that is the case, then I bet I know exactly what potion they would have been using.”

“Wait, you actually think the ministry could have been drugging me?”

“I cannot give the specifics, but let’s say that potentially there is a situation somewhere in which prisoners are secretly being given a potion, the main ingredient of which is unicorn essence, in order to be tracked by a governmental organization once they are released back into the world, it’s only used on high level prisoners. I have worked on one such individual who shortly after his release placed a complex curse on himself in a fit of madness because he thought somebody was after him. I looked into a number of other cases and all who were released were prone to more erratic and paranoid behavior. I think that if they were trying to track you some rogue Auror must have attacked you, not knowing how the curse would react, and that the curse was able to be lifted indicates that the substance must have been entirely removed from your system.”

“You really think that’s possible?”

“It makes a lot of fucking sense, you were getting scary.”

“It sounds insane.”

“I swear, it’s a depressingly real possibility.”

For a moment Enjolras was at a loss for words but Grantaire laughed.

“What a cluster fuck. I have the ministry to thank for more misery than I even imagined.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Enjolras, I don’t think it was your fault.”

“It was still terrible, I don’t see how you can possibly still be in love with me.” The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them, so much for careful wording.

“I don’t think I could ever not love you, I tried as hard as I fucking could but I don’t have the strength for it, so here we are,” he shrugged.

“What I did was a crime, you could get me thrown into Azkaban, they would love to have me.”

“I couldn’t do that. I’m sorry if my feelings make you-“

“They don’t. R, listen to me. I don’t hate you. You frustrate the hell out of me and you get under my skin, but I don’t hate you.”

“That still doesn’t seem great.”

“I-“ Enjolras gave a frustrated sigh, struggling to accurately convey what he was trying to get across. “You saw my reaction to you as a veela.”

“You weren’t in control of your actions and I was the only one on your side.”

“I was acting on instinct; my brain just wasn’t there to get in my way.”

“You… What… are you saying?” The words were seemingly not sticking.

The half-veela gripped him by the shoulders, shaking him slightly with every statement. “I liked you in school and I didn’t have the emotional maturity to deal with it, so I didn’t say anything. And I was upset when I thought you left us. And I am so, so glad that I got to see you again.”

Grantaire shook his head, “That… you can’t.”

“It’s true, you can ask Combeferre, or even better Courfeyrac, I think Combeferre used to mute me when I got worked up about you, but Courfeyrac pushed me in the lake once because I wouldn’t shut up about an argument we’d had over mermaid-wizard relations. He had to fight the giant squid to get me back and I think it was killing him not to say anything about it to you.”

Grantaire was stunned, “But you were always so harsh with me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. If I could go back, I would have told you how I felt rather than let the resentment build up.”

“And you’re serious?”

“Do you really think I would lie about something like this?”

“I… Suppose not but… What happens now?”

“What would you like to happen?”

“I,” He lifted a shaky hand to Enjorlas face, the blond leaned in as he traced along his cheek, allowing himself to be pulled forward. Their lips brushed. The kiss was soft and sweet until it turned coppery.

Enjorlas pulled back, startled to see that Grantaire’s nose had begun to bleed. “You’re bleeding again.”

Grantaire raised his wand and cleared away the blood. “Sorry,” he said shakily, “I guess it’s lucky that this is my only problem right now. I used to carry this curse where every time a person touched me it would cause my skin to blister. I couldn’t get rid of it for two months because I kept getting case after case and it’s so difficult to work a case without touching the victim so I just had to walk around covered in blisters-“

Enjolras threw his arms around the wizard’s shoulders and held him tight to stop his rambling. “I am so so so so sorry. Whatever I can do to fix this I will.”

Grantaire clung to him. “Don’t let me go back to the ministry.”

“I won’t. You deserve to be free.”

“Free,” Grantaire echoed, the word coming from his mouth strangely.

"I imagine you’ll want to quit curse-breaking, what would you rather do?"

"I don’t know."

"You might want to do nothing,” Enjolras reasoned.

Grantaire gave a huff, "I'm afraid that if I stop, I'll come undone, I’ve been going for so long.”

“Well, if you’re interested, I’m sure Valjean would be happy to let you teach defense against the dark arts. You are overly qualified, I think.”

“And corrupt the bright minds of the next generation?”

“Perhaps.”

“I might have to look into it.”

There was a pause, Enjolras wondered if the seriousness of the situation had really sunk in yet. “You said before that you felt you deserved it.”

“Yes.”

“You did not deserve this.”

“I just-“

“Grantaire, listen to me. What I did was unforgivable and you would not in a million years deserve it.”

“And yet I’ve already said that you are forgiven.”

“You let me off too easily.”

“I can’t help it, I love you.”

His heart breaking, Enjolras pressed a kiss to Grantaire’s forehead, then let his cheek rest against the wizard’s hair.

They stood there for some time, Grantaire leaning all of his weight on the blond, clinging like his life depended on it as his body attempting to propel him onward toward the ministry. When he could stand it no longer, Grantaire moved away, pulling Enjolras along by the hand as together they neared Hogsmead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It probably should have been set up a lot smoother and was about 100 times more complicated than it had to be but there we go…
> 
> I so wish this took place 7 years after the curse was placed and that the curse was placed at age 21, that would have been so so good. But I only realized too late and don’t want to go back and fix it. Still managed 7 chapters. You’ll notice R made his vows at 7 and 14 so that the vows would be extra powerful.
> 
> Making r still in love with e after all that is probably pretty fucked up and like the most unhealthy and a little alarming but like pretty on brand for Grantaire. The proper response would be “holy hell get some psychiatric help” not “let me kiss you better” but fuck it I like em dysfunctional
> 
> Also, I feel like in general e would look at love and be like “this is bullshit and I refuse to be a part of it, therefore I will pretend it is not happening”, which is a big mood tbh
> 
> And you get an epilogue to tie things up and twist the knife in just a little bit more before a lighter end, but in the meantime, anybody have any recommendations on what I should write next???
> 
> Thanks.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath and conclusion.

Restless rustling and shushed whispers—the classroom was vibrating with energy, students eager to leave for break as their professor droned on, intentionally drawing out his sentences to make them as agonizing as possible. It was the end of the first term, the start of the winter break, the very last class of the day.

“…And if you end up with a fist full of snakes, you know that you have used too much acromatula venom.” Grantaire paused in his explanation of protection rituals as the end of class bell echoed through the room. “Alright, everyone, you are finally free and I want each and every one of you to enjoy your break. Now off with you, begone from my sight,” he said with a melodramatic flourish of his wand, opening the door from across the room. In a rush the students were leaving, a few lingering to say their goodbyes and happy holidays but with a charmingly distracted disposition.

Despite the fact that he'd only been teaching for the past three months, Grantaire felt that the students were already quite attached to him. He'd only taken a month off to recover, half of which was spent in St Mungos, before he was restless for something to occupy his time. Valjean had graciously accepted him on as a temporary professor—temporary only in that if he wanted to stay he could—to much excitement from the rest of the staff. Grantaire was finding that he quite liked teaching and even more so, he was glad not to be working for the ministry. For the first time in years he felt that he could breathe.

After Enjolras had broken the curse, the two of them had apparated off to the ministry. Once within the walls of the building, they had walked silently, Enjolras gripping his hand tightly, his face drawn. Grantaire imagined he was doing his best to prepare his argument for Grantaire’s dismissal and so thought better than to distract him, not that he would have known what to say anyway. He had still not been entirely sure any of this was happening. He had stumbled his way into illusions before and so was holding off in celebrating. He was also curious to see what Enjolras would say. The obvious thing to do would be to clarify that Grantaire only worked for the ministry under the command of a highly illegal unbreakable vow, but in admitting that, there would be no ambiguity around Grantaire’s reasons for always following orders. He had never been entirely sure if his superiors had accurately guessed at why he was so driven, if anything, they likely assumed he was under some sort of curse. Either way, he did not want anyone knowing the full extend of the power they held over him and he knew Enjolras mistrusted the ministry enough that he would not let anything slip.

As they turned into the Auror department, Grantaire felt his nose begin to bleed again. He waved his wand and the trickle lessened, but did not stop entirely. He clasped a sleeve to his face, allowing the blood to seep into the black fabric. His head had started to spin alarmingly.

Oblivious, Enjolras knocked roughly at the head Auror’s office. The current head Auror was Fameuil, who had taken up the position after Grantaire had left. Even as an active Auror, he had been known as a people person in that he pulled the strings of the operations and had connections in many fields. Grantaire had only worked with him once and thought he was a slimy git. There was no one thing he could pinpoint that gave him this impression, he could just feel it in the way that he held himself, he oozed slime and corruption.

When Auror Fameuil answered the door, his expression was one of shock, from which he quickly recovered. "Mister Grantaire, I have been expecting you,” his eyes slid from Grantaire to Enjolras, “Professor Enjolras, I was under the impression you were still in St Mungos."

"Apparently not," Enjolras seethed, stepping into the office, not letting go of Grantaire’s hand.

"What can I do for you?" Fameuil rounded his desk, though he did not take a seat when Enjolras made no move to sit.

"Grantaire cannot return to the ministry."

"And who are you to decide this? We need him and he said he would."

"As you can see, he is not well."

Grantaire was not entirely sure of how he looked in that moment, but often when he caught glimpses of himself, he appeared not well, perhaps he looked now exceptionally so. This idea was enforced when Fameuil did not argue back on his condition.

"Then we will wait until he recovers. He will join us then."

“He will not, unless he chooses to do so,” Enjolras protested, turning to the wizard in question, “Grantaire, do you want to reclaim your position as a curse-breaker?”

“No,” he said, his voice muffled by his sleeve. He felt a gush of blood as he spoke, metallic bitterness leaking into his mouth.

“It does not matter,” Fameuil argued, “he has already said that he would return.”

“And are all of your employee contracts made under duress? He was blackmailed into this because unlike you, he cares about those he is sent to help.”

The lie was so smooth that Grantaire nearly laughed.

“That-“ the Auror faltered.

“You know, I’ve heard a lot of talk in the past few years and I still know a number of journalists who would love the chance to dismantle this department, scandal by scandal. I was saving this information for the right time, but now seems the perfect opportunity to let the world know. How would you like to be the head Auror known forever as the one in charge as the department fell to chaos?”

”You really expect me to believe that you would withhold damaging information if you had it?” the Auror scoffed.

“Are you willing to take that chance, you have more to lose than what one curse-breaker is worth.”

“Prove it then.”

“And have you arrest me for some trumped up charge under the guise of taking care of a security breach? I don’t think so. You’ll just have to take me at my word when I swear that I could ruin you.”

They stared one another down wordlessly as Grantaire felt the blood running down his throat. Whether or not Enjolras really could destroy the department, he did not know. No doubt he had enough information compiled over the years to cause a scandal, but if he hadn’t said anything outright already it likely wasn’t anything horrific.  

Fameuil’s face was very red when he finally spoke, “Very well. I can assure you this is not over but for now… I hope to see you again soon, mister Grantaire. Now, if you will kindly remove yourselves from my office.”

Grantaire did not respond, staring in shock. Enjolras pulled him from the spot and out the door.

He was not going back, his heart soared and his head swam. They were turning the corner before he realized they were moving and his felt knees buckle. Enjolras stumbled down after him.

“Are you alright?” the half-veela asked in alarm having seemingly just noticed the growing stream of blood streaking his face.

“Fantastic,” Grantaire grinned, choking slightly, “Really fantastic.” He could see that his saliva was red when he coughed, but he couldn’t find it within him to care. He wasn’t going back.

Enjolras paled. “You need to get back to St Mungos. What sort of curse did you say this was?”

The ex-curse-breaker shook his head as Enjolras struggled to lift him, his body likely weak from the transformation he had undertaken only a short time ago. Grantaire tried to stand but all the energy seemed to have been gone from him.

“Not a curse,” he said, his words slightly slurred, “I had to take a stimulant to get the case over with before the Aurors….” His focus waned, “Excessive bleeding is a… side effect.”

“And you _knew_ this would happen?”

“I was careful with the first bit I took, but it was wearing off before I finally broke the curse and I had to focus for that, so I took some more.” He spat what seemed a lot of blood onto the floor. He had a feeling it wasn’t just his nose bleeding now.

“ _Merlin_ , R, how much more?” Enjolras’ voice was sharp with alarm.

Grantaire shrugged. “Too much. You weren’t going to break the curse, so I was sort of hoping I would bleed out before I would get here… Didn’t wanna go back…”

Enjolras made a strangled sound as they stumbled against a wall. “Fuck, I don’t have my wand,” he whispered in frustration. His voice wavered slightly and Grantaire thought he might be crying.

“M’sorry,” he said distantly as Enjolras pulled them onward. Enjolras was saying something else but the words were lost in a blur.

When they reached the fireplace, they tumbled through together in a flash of green, hitting the ground hard in the floo hall of St Mungos where the Healers and mediwizards swarmed them in an instant.

After that, from what he could gather, the potion was purged from his body. He spent five days confined to his bed, in and out of consciousness, very lucky to be alive. When he was coherent again Enjolras visited him, looking pale and unsure. And when Grantaire opened his mouth, Enjolras spoke first.

“Please, don’t ever do that again,” he said shakily.

“Sorry.” Grantaire wasn’t really sure what else to say.

“You almost _died_ ,” Enjolras stressed, taking a step toward the bed.

“I’ve been closer to death than that.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Maybe not, but it’s the truth. It would take more than that to do me in.” Personally, he’d tried and failed before.

Enjolras closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s shoulders. “I’d rather you didn’t test your luck.” He was shaking slightly. “We just got you back… I don’t want to lose you.”

Grantaire leaned his head against the half-veela’s chest. “Then I will do my best to stick around.”

After a moment he pulled the blond into his bed and they laid there in each other’s arms until a Mediwizard forced Enjolras to leave for the day.

When he could, Enjolras remained at his side. A reassuring presence. Their friends came and went as their schedules permitted, each expressing their horror over everything that had happened, many tears were shed. It was good to finally speak openly with them.

When he was dismissed from the hospital he had returned to his home, which he hadn’t actively been to in years, under strict instruction that he was not to engage in any strenuous activity until the end of the month. The house had been left to him after his father had died and was withering in neglect. He had spent his month of forced leave fixing the place up when he was not in the presence of around others—which he usually was, having suddenly become rather popular—not that he planned on staying there. He just needed something to do in the meantime when he wasn’t able to sleep, the empty hours set his nerves on edge. He was glad when he was able to start at Hogwarts.

He really hasn't given any thought to what he actually wanted to do career wise as he'd had no choice until now. Perhaps teaching was a good place to start, especially when it kept him so close to his friends.

Presently, Grantaire stared out the window of his classroom watching over the grounds. He’d spent many many hours staring out of that exact window as a student, watching the snow lazily drift from the gray sky on days exactly like this. He felt impossibly old.

He leaned forward to observe the small figures that were the students milling about, a small group making their way down to the lake where he knew others were ice skating. He started as there was a knock at the door and turned to see Enjorlas standing in his doorway.

"Well, hello there, professor. What can I do for you?" he teased.

"I have some letters for you,” Enjolras held up a small stack of papers. His friends now took their turns sorting his mail since he had abandoned his antitracking spells. They picked through ministry letters and pleas for help from cursed individuals to find all the thank you letters, letters that had been lost in the mail for years and years finally finding their way to him. It was a bit overwhelming actually. He hadn't really given any thought to what the people he helped might have felt once he left them. His mind had been otherwise occupied.

Perhaps someday he could start taking a case or two at a time. It seemed a waste to not continue helping people, but… maybe not just yet.

Enjolras crossed the floor and slipped behind the former curse-breaker, arms circling his waist as he pressed the letters to his chest and rested his chin on Grantaire's shoulder.

Grantaire kissed his cheek. "Anything interesting?"

"Many many thanks. You've helped a lot of people,” the half-veela said fondly.

"I had to,” Grantaire pointed out. Taking credit for the things he was forced to do was uncomfortable, it felt unwarranted, like someone else had done those things.

"That doesn’t retract from the fact that you did,” he protested, it was a well-worn argument.

“Yes, yes, I know,” the defense against the dark arts professor sighed.

“Do you?”

“You tell me all too often.”

“That’s not much of an argument, you don’t believe in anything I say.”

“True, but I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”

“Or I’ll have to keep telling you until you see that I am right.”

“As you wish,” Grantaire gave a half shrug.

“I adore you but you are impossible,” Enjolras sighed unhappily, “Anyway, everyone’s heading down to Hogsmead soon. Courfeyrac said that he managed to get his hands on a cursed rat that he wants you to take a look at.”

“Where on earth did he find a cursed rat?” Grantaire laughed.

“Running around the castle apparently, he caught it in a fairy trap. He’s been carrying it around all day trying to figure out what it’s been cursed with and why.”

Grantaire leaned his head back on Enjolras’ shoulder, humming thoughtfully, "Sounds urgent, I suppose we should get going then."

"Whenever you're ready." Enjolras pressed a kiss to the still visible bite mark on the shorter man’s neck.

After a moment Grantaire turned in Enjolras’ hold and wrapped his arms around the blonde’s neck, holding him close. Enjolras tightened his arms, swaying slightly. "What?" he spoke softly.

"Nothing,” Grantaire smiled, “I just love you so much."

Enjolras kissed his temple. "I love you too."

And for an instant Grantaire considered the idea that maybe fate _had_ guided him back to Hogwarts, maybe he had paid his price and that this really was the start of a happier life, maybe he deserved to be happy after all that he had been through. Or perhaps he would wake up tomorrow and this would all have been a cruel dream. Regardless, he was going to treasure every single second of happiness he was gifted with.

Pulling back, he kissed Enjolras lovingly on the mouth before taking his hand and guiding him from the classroom, leading them off to join up with their friends and enjoy the leave of responsibilities for as long as the fates would allow.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, some of that was maybe a bit much and probs should have had a reunion with les amis but it is so hard to write that many people into a conversation that I cant be asked. Whatever, they live happily ever after bc r deserves all the love.
> 
> If you made it this far, thank you for joining me in this far too angsty story and I hope you enjoyed, despite the fact that I was so cruel to both e and r.
> 
> If your curious, the first summary statement I wrote was: The war had been going on for too long and Grantaire wasn't a fighter. Yet here he was, propelled forward by an unbreakable vow he'd made at far too young an age. Too cowardly to fight and too afraid to die. He danced along the sidelines and drank himself blind.
> 
> And from that you can see that the idea evolved a lot from there haha
> 
> As an aside, the cursed rat was absolutely a former teacher who gained the ability to grant wishes for other people but at the cost of transforming into a rat. Hogwarts is a strange and dangerous place to work. Free wishes for les amis though
> 
> Anyway, I’ll be back again soon with something else, probably something less depressing though equally overcomplicated
> 
> Live long and prosper :-)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another contrived and overly complicated story. As a whole, the plot of this one makes me sad bc it's a bit dysfunctional and there is much angst but it had to be done. I wanted to write a cruse-breaker veela story. My veela probably have influence from sirens, actual hp veela, vulcans, spn angels, and fanfic veela. Whatever, I make the rules here. 
> 
> Enjolras having like the wildest revolutionary ideas is my favorite thing. Fuck the statute of secrecy, fight the power.
> 
> Not sure how long it will be and updates will probs not be consistent bc school is slowly murdering me but anyway…
> 
> My tumblr is opens-up-4-nobody if you want to say hi :-)
> 
> Thanks


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